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Wife, bring brandy in a spoon;
Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do,
For our old sow is in a swoon,

Sing heigh ho, the carrion crow,
Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do.

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[Another version from MS. Sloane, 1489, fol. 17, written in the time of

Charles I.]

Hic hoc, the carrion crow,

For I have shot something too low :
I have quite missed my mark,
And shot the poor sow to the heart;
Wife, bring treacle in a spoon,

Or else the poor sow's heart will down.

CLXXVIII.

[Song of a little boy while passing his hour of solitude in a corn-field.]

AWA' birds, away!

Take a little, and leave a little,
And do not come again;

For if you do,

I will shoot you through,
And there is an end of you.

CLXXIX.

Ir I'd as much money as I could spend,
I never would cry old chairs to mend ;
Old chairs to mend, old chairs to mend;
I never would cry old chairs to mend.
If I'd as much money as I could tell,
I never would cry old clothes to sell;
Old clothes to sell, old clothes to sell;
I never would cry old clothes to sell.

CLXXX.

WHISTLE, daughter, whistle, whistle daughter dear;

I cannot whistle, mammy, I cannot whistle clear.

Whistle, daughter, whistle, whistle for a pound;

I cannot whistle, mammy, I cannot make a sound.

CLXXXI.

I'LL sing you a song,
Though not very long,

Yet I think it as pretty as any;
Put your hand in your purse,
You'll never be worse,

And give the poor singer a penny.

CLXXXII.

DAME, get up and bake your pies,
Bake your pies, bake your pies;
Dame, get up and bake your pies,
On Christmas-day in the morning.

Dame, what makes your maidens lie,
Maidens lie, maidens lie;

Dame, what makes your maidens lie,
On Christmas-day in the morning?

Dame, what makes your ducks to die,
Ducks to die, ducks to die;

Dame, what makes your ducks to die,
On Christmas-day in the morning?

Their wings are cut and they cannot fly,
Cannot fly, cannot fly;

Their wings are cut and they cannot fly, On Christmas-day in the morning.

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CLXXXIII.
[Ann.]

THERE was a girl in our towne,

Silk an' satin was her gowne,

Silk an' satin, gold an' velvet,
Guess her name, three times I've tell'd it.

CLXXXIV.

[A thorn.]

I WENT to the wood and got it,

I sat me down and looked at it;

The more I looked at it the less I liked it, And I brought it home because I couldn't help it.

CLXXXV.

[Sunshine.]

HICK-A-MORE, Hack-a-more,

On the king's kitchen-door;
All the king's horses,

And all the king's men,

Couldn't drive Hick-a-more, Hack-a-more, Off the king's kitchen-door!

CLXXXVI.

[A pen.]

WHEN I was taken from the fair body,
They then cut off my head,

And thus my shape was altered;

It's I that make peace between king and king,

And many a true lover glad : All this I do and ten times more, And more I could do still,

But nothing can I do,

Without my guider's will.

CLXXXVII.

[Snuff.]

As I look'd out o' my chamber window
I heard something fall;

I sent my maid to pick it up,
But she couldn't pick it all.

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