hman.
Be he live or be he dead,
I'll grind his bones to make me bread.

[Illustration]

Richard and Robin were two pretty men;
They laid abed till the clock struck ten;
Robin starts up and looks at the sky,
Oh ho! brother Richard, the sun's very high,
Do you go before with the bottle and bag,
And I'll follow after on little Jack Nag.

* * * * *

[Illustration]

Round about, round about,
Gooseberry Pie,
My father loves good ale,
And so do I.

[Illustration]

We'll go to the wood, says Richard to Robin,
We'll go to the wood, says Robin to Bobin,
We'll go to the wood, says John all alone,
We'll go to the wood, says every one.

What to do there? says Richard to Robin,
What to do there? says Robin to Bobin,
What to do there? says John all alone,
What to do there? says every one.

We'll shoot at a wren, says Richard to Robin,
We'll shoot at a wren, says Robin to Bobin,
We'll shoot at a wren, says John all alone,
We'll shoot at a wren, says every one.

Then pounce, then pounce, says Richard to Robin,
Then pounce, then pounce, says Robin to Bobin,
Then pounce, then pounce, says John all alone,
Then pounce, then pounce, says every one.

She's dead, she's dead, says Richard to Robin,
She's dead, she's dead, says Robin to Bobin,
She's dead, she's dead, says John all alone,
She's dead, she's dead, says every one.

How get her home? says Richard to Robin,
How get her home? says Robin to Bobin,
How get her home? says John all alone,
How get her home? says every one.

In a cart and six horses, says Richard to Robin,
In a cart and six horses, says Robin to Bobin,
In a cart and six horses, says John all alone,
In a cart and six horses, says every one.

How shall we dress her? says Richard to Robin,
How shall we dress her? says Robin to Bobin,
How shall we dress her? says John all alone,
How shall we dress her? says every one.

We'll hire seven cooks, says Richard to Robin,
We'll hire seven cooks, says Robin to Bobin,
We'll hire seven cooks, says John all alone,
We'll hire seven cooks, says every one.

[Illustration]

There was an old woman lived under the hill,
And if she's not gone she lives there still.
Baked apples she sold, and cranberry pies,
And she's the old woman that never told lies.

* * * * *

[Illustration]