Eggs, b.u.t.ter, cheese, bread, Stick, stock, stone, dead, Stick him up, stick him down, Stick him in the old man's crown.

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Rain, rain, Go away, Come again April day; Little Johnny Wants to play.

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Tom he was a Pi-per's son, He learned to play when he was young; But all the tunes that he could play, Was "O-ver the hills and far away."

Now, Tom with his pipe made such a noise, That he pleas-ed both the girls and boys, And they all stop-ped to hear him play, "O-ver the hills and far a-way."

Tom with his pipe did play with such skill, That those who heard him could ne-ver stand still; When-e-ver they heard him they be-gan to dance, Even pigs on their hind-legs would after him prance.

He met old Dame Trott with a basket of eggs, He u-sed his pipe and she u-sed her legs; She danc-ed a-bout till the eggs were all broke, She be-gan to fret, but he laugh-ed at the joke.

He saw a cross fel-low was beat-ing an a.s.s, Hea-vy la-den with pots, pans, dish-es, and gla.s.s; He took out his pipe and play-ed them a tune, And the Jack-a.s.s's load was light-en-ed full soon.

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I had a little dog, they called him Buff, I sent him to the shop for a three cents worth of snuff: But he lost the bag, and spilt the snuff, So take that cuff, and that's enough.

Molly, my sister, and I fell out, And what do you think it was about?

She loved coffee, and I loved tea, And that was the reason we couldn't agree.

Solomon Grundy, Born on a Monday, Christened on Tuesday, Married on Wednesday, Very ill on Thursday, Worse on Friday, Died on Sat.u.r.day, Buried on Sunday, This is the end Of Solomon Grundy.

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Handy Spandy, Jack a-dandy, Loves plum-cake and sugar-candy; He bought some at a grocer's shop, And out he came, hop-hop-hop.

Go to bed Tom, go to bed Tom-- Merry or sober, go to bed Tom.

Mary had a pretty bird, Feathers bright and yellow, Slender legs, upon my word He was a pretty fellow.

The sweetest notes he always sung, Which much delighted Mary, And often where the cage was hung, She stood to hear Canary.

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Lit-tle boy blue, come blow your horn; The sheep's in the mea-dow, the cow's in the corn.

Where's the lit-tle boy that looks af-ter the sheep?

He's un-der the hay-c.o.c.k fast a-sleep.

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I had a lit-tle po-ny; They call-ed him dap-ple grey.

I lent him to a lady, To ride a mile a-way.

She whip-ped him, she slash-ed him, She rode him through the mire; I would not lend my po-ny now, For all the lady's hire.

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Pe-ter White Will ne'er go right, Would you know the rea-son why?

He fol-lows his nose, Wher-ever he goes, And that stands all aw-ry.

See, see. What shall I see?

A horse's head where his tail should be.