Hark, hark,     The dogs do bark, The beggars are coming to town;     Some in rags,     And some in jags, And one in a velvet gown.

Goosey, goosey gander,     Whither shall I wander? Upstairs and downstairs     And in my lady's chamber. There I met an old man     Who would not say his prayers, I took him by the left leg     And threw him down the stairs.

Little Tommy Tittlemouse Lived in a little house; He caught fishes In other men's ditches.

Ding, dong, bell, Pussy's in the well. Who put her in? Little Johnny Green. Who pulled her out? Little Tommy Stout. What a naughty boy was that To try to drown poor pussy cat, Who never did him any harm, And killed the mice in his father's barn.

Tom, Tom, the piper's son, Stole a pig and away he run;     The pig was eat,     And Tom was beat, And Tom went howling down the street.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary,     How does your garden grow? With silver bells and cockle shells,     And pretty maids all in a row.

There was a little girl, and she had a little curl     Right in the middle of her forehead; When she was good she was very, very good,     But when she was bad she was horrid. One day she went upstairs, while her parents, unawares,     In the kitchen were occupied with meals; And she stood upon her head, on her little truckle-bed,     And then began hurraying with her heels. Her mother heard the noise, and thought it was the boys     A-kicking up a rumpus in the attic; But when she climbed the stair and saw Jemima there,     She took her up and spanked her most emphatic.

Little Polly Flinders Sat among the cinders, Warming her pretty little toes; Her mother came and caught her, And spanked her little daughter For spoiling her nice new clothes.

Up and down the City Road,     And in and out the Eagle, That's where all my money goes,     Pop goes the weasel! Half a pound of tuppenny rice,     Half a pound of treacle, Mix it up and make it nice,     Pop goes the weasel! Every night when I go out,     The monkey's on the table; Take a stick and knock it off,     Pop goes the weasel!

I lost my mare in Lincoln Lane, I'll never find her there again;     She lost a shoe,     And then lost two, And threw her rider in the drain.

Did it indeed? said Mrs. Reed; It did for certain, said Mrs. Burton.

Then Mrs. Nix, up to her tricks, Threw the basin on the bricks.

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