Nursery Rhyme. DCIII. Local.

    Little lad, little lad, where wast thou born?
    Far off in Lancashire, under a thorn,
    Where they sup sour milk in a ram's horn.

    Dick and Tom, Will and John,
    Brought me from Nottingham.

    Little boy, pretty boy, where was you born?
    In Lincolnshire, master: come blow the cow's horn.
    A half-penny pudding, a penny pie,
    A shoulder of mutton, and that love I.

    Driddlety drum, driddlety drum,
    There you see the beggars are come;
    Some are here, and some are there,
    And some are gone to Chidley fair.

    The girl in the lane, that couldn't speak plain,
        Cried "gobble, gobble, gobble:"
    The man on the hill, that couldn't stand still,
        Went hobble, hobble, hobble.

    My father and mother,
    My uncle and aunt,
    Be all gone to Norton,
    But little Jack and I.

    A little bit of powdered beef,
    And a great net of cabbage,
    The best meal I have had to-day,
    Is a good bowl of porridge.