Part 13 (1/2)

The fox when he came to yonder stile, He lifted his lugs and he listened a while!

Oh, ho! said the fox, it's but a short mile From this unto yonder wee town, e-ho!

The fox when he came to the farmer's gate, Who should he see but the farmer's drake; I love you well for your master's sake, And long to be picking your bone, e-ho!

The gray goose she ran round the hay-stack, Oh, ho! said the fox, you are very fat; You'll grease my beard and ride on my back From this into yonder wee town, e-ho!

Old Gammer Hipple-hopple hopped out of bed, She opened the cas.e.m.e.nt, and popped out her head; Oh! husband, oh! husband, the gray goose is dead, And the fox is gone through the town, oh!

Then the old man got up in his red cap, And swore he would catch the fox in a trap; But the fox was too cunning, and gave him the slip, And ran thro' the town, the town, oh!

When he got to the top of the hill, He blew his trumpet both loud and shrill, For joy that he was safe Thro' the town, oh!

When the fox came back to his den, He had young ones both nine and ten, ”You're welcome home, daddy, you may go again, If you bring us such nice meat From the town, oh!”

Cx.x.xIV.

Little Tom Dogget, What dost thou mean, To kill thy poor Colly Now she's so lean?

Sing, oh poor Colly, Colly, my cow, For Colly will give me No more milk now.

I had better have kept her, 'Till fatter she had been, For now, I confess, She's a little too lean.

Sing, oh poor Colly, &c.

First in comes the tanner With his sword by his side, And he bids me five s.h.i.+llings For my poor cow's hide.

Sing, oh poor Colly, &c.

Then in comes the tallow-chandler, Whose brains were but shallow, And he bids me two-and-sixpence For my cow's tallow.

Sing, oh poor Colly, &c.

Then in comes the huntsman So early in the morn, He bids me a penny For my cow's horn.

Sing, oh poor Colly, &c.

Then in comes the tripe-woman, So fine and so neat, She bids me three half-pence For my cow's feet.

Sing, oh poor Colly, &c.

Then in comes the butcher, That nimble-tongu'd youth, Who said she was carrion, But he spoke not the truth.

Sing, oh poor Colly, &c.

The skin of my cowly Was softer than silk, And three times a-day My poor cow would give milk.

Sing, oh poor Colly, &c.

She every year A fine calf did me bring, Which fetcht me a pound, For it came in the spring.

Sing, oh poor Colly, &c.

But now I have kill'd her, I can't her recall; I will sell my poor Colly, Hide, horns, and all.

Sing, oh poor Colly, &c.