Unknown

        [Proverbial many years ago, when the guinea in gold was of a higher value than its nominal representative in silver,]

    A guinea it would sink,
        And a pound it would float;
    Yet I'd rather have a guinea,
        Than your one pound note.

    The fair maid who, the first of May,
    Goes to the fields at break of day,
    And washes in dew from the hawthorn tree
    Will ever after handsome be.

        [From W. Wager's play, called 'The longer thou livest, the more foole thou art,' 4to, Lond.]

    The white dove sat on the castle wall,
    I bend my bow and shoot her I shall;
    I put her in my glove both feathers and all;
    I laid my bridle upon the shelf,
    If you will any more, sing it yourself.

    Elsie Marley is grown so fine,
    She won't get up to serve the swine,
    But lies in bed till eight or nine,
    And surely she does take her time.

    And do you ken Elsie Marley, honey?
    The wife who sells the barley, honey;
    She won't get up to serve her swine,
    And do you ken Elsie Marley, honey?

    London bridge is broken down,
        Dance o'er my lady lee;
    London bridge is broken down,
        With a gay lady.

    How shall we build it up again?
        Dance o'er my lady lee;
    How shall we build it up again?
        With a gay lady.

    Silver and gold will be stole away,
        Dance o'er my lady lee;
    Silver and gold will be stole away,
        With a gay lady.

    Build it up again with iron and steel,
        Dance o'er my lady lee;
    Build it up with iron and steel,
        With a gay lady.

    Iron and steel will bend and bow,
        Dance o'er my lady lee;
    Iron and steel will bend and bow,
        With a gay lady.

    Build it up with wood and clay,
        Dance o'er...

    Old Father of the Pye,
    I cannot sing, my lips are dry;
    But when my lips are very well wet,
    Then I can sing with the Heigh go Bet!

        [Part of this is in a song called 'Jockey's Lamentation,' in the 'Pills to Purge Melancholy,' 1719, vol. v, p. 317.]

    Tom he was a piper's son,
    He learn'd to play when he was young,
    But all the tunes that he could play,
    Was, "Over the hills and far away;"
    Over the hills, and a great way off,
    And the wind will blow my top-knot off.

    Now Tom with his pipe made such a noise,
    That he pleas'd both the girls and boys,
    And they stopp'd to hear him play,
    "Over the hills and far away."

    Tom with his pipe did play with such skill,
    That those who heard him could never keep still;
    Whenever they heard they began for to dance,
    Even pigs on their hind legs would after him prance.

    As Dolly was...

    My maid Mary
    She minds her dairy,
            While I go a hoing and mowing each morn,
    Merrily run the reel
    And the little spinning wheel
            Whilst I am singing and mowing my corn.

    Jacky, come give me thy fiddle,
        If ever thou mean to thrive:
    Nay; I'll not give my fiddle
        To any man alive.

    If I should give my fiddle,
        They'll think that I'm gone mad;
    For many a joyful day
        My fiddle and I have had.

        [The following lines are part of an old song, the whole of which may be found in 'Deuteromelia,' 1609, and also in MS. Additional, 5336, fol. 5.]

    Of all the gay birds that e'er I did see,
    The owl is the fairest by far to me;
    For all the day long she sits on a tree,
    And when the night comes away flies she.

    I love sixpence, pretty little sixpence,
        I love sixpence better than my life;
    I spent a penny of it, I spent another,
        And took fourpence home to my wife.

    Oh, my little fourpence, pretty little fourpence,
        I love fourpence better than my life;
    I spent a penny of it, I spent another,
        And I took twopence home to my wife.

    Oh, my little twopence, my pretty little twopence,
        I love twopence better than my life;
    I spent a penny of it, I spent another,
        And I took nothing home to my wife.

    Oh, my little nothing, my pretty little nothing,
        What will nothing buy for my wife?
    I have nothing, I spend nothing,
        I love nothing better than my wife.

    Merry are the bells, and merry would they ring,
    Merry was myself, and merry could I sing;
    With a merry ding-dong, happy, gay, and free,
    And a merry sing-song, happy let us be!

    Waddle goes your gait, and hollow are your hose,
    Noddle goes your pate, and purple is your nose;
    Merry is your sing-song, happy, gay, and free,
    With a merry ding-dong, happy let us be!

    Merry have we met, and merry have we been,
    Merry let us part, and merry meet again;
    With our merry sing-song, happy, gay, and free,
    And a merry ding-dong, happy let us be!

            Hot-cross Buns!
            Hot-cross Buns!
    One a penny, two a penny
            Hot-cross Buns!

            Hot-cross Buns!
            Hot-cross Buns!
    If ye have no daughters,
            Give them to your sons.

    Wooley Foster has gone to sea,
    With silver buckles at his knee,
    When he comes back he'll marry me, -
            Bonny Wooley Foster!

    Wooley Foster has a cow,
    Black and white about the mow,
    Open the gates and let her through,
            Wooley Foster's ain cow!

    Wooley Foster has a hen,
    Cockle button, cockle ben,
    She lay eggs for gentlemen,
            But none for Wooley Foster!

        [The following catch is found in Ben Jonson's 'Masque of Oberon,' and is a most common nursery song at the present day.]

    Buz, quoth the blue fly,
        Hum, quoth the bee,
    Buz and hum they cry,
        And so do we:
    In his ear, in his nose,
        Thus, do you see?
    He ate the dormouse,
        Else it was he.

    As I was going up the hill,
        I met with Jack the piper,
    And all the tunes that he could play
        Was "Tie up your petticoats tighter."

    I tied them once, I tied them twice,
        I tied them three times over;
    And all the songs that he could sing
        Was "Carry me safe to Dover."

    There were two birds sat on a stone,
        Fa, la, la, la, lal, de;
    One flew away, and then there was one,
        Fa, la, la, la, lal, de;
    The other flew after, and then there was none,
        Fa, la, la, la, lal, de;
    And so the poor stone was left all alone,
        Fa, la, la, la, lal, de!

        [Song on the bells of Derby on foot-ball morning, a custom now discontinued:]

    Pancakes and fritters,
    Say All Saints and St. Peters;
    When will the ball come,
    Say the bells of St. Alkmun;
    At two they will throw,
    Says Saint Werabo;
    O! very well,
    Says little Michel.