CLXXVII.

[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 pa.s.sing 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.

If 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.

CLx.x.x.

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.

CLx.x.xI.

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.

CLx.x.xII.

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.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

SEVENTH CLa.s.s--RIDDLES.

CLx.x.xIII.

[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.

CLx.x.xIV.

[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.

CLx.x.xV.

[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!

CLx.x.xVI.

[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.

CLx.x.xVII.

[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.

CLx.x.xVIII.

[A tobacco-pipe.]

I went into my grandmother's garden, And there I found a farthing.

I went into my next door neighbour's, There I bought a pipkin and a popkin-- A slipkin and a slopkin, A nailboard, a sailboard, And all for a farthing.

CLx.x.xIX.

[Gloves.]

As I was going o'er London Bridge, I met a cart full of fingers and thumbs!