THE DEATH AND BURIAL OF POOR COCK ROBIN

Who killed Cock Robin? 
“I,” said the sparrow,
“With my little bow and arrow,
I killed Cock Robin.”

Who saw him die? 
“I,” said the fly,
“With my little eye,
I saw him die.”

Who caught his blood? 
“I,” said the fish,
“With my little dish,
I caught his blood.”

Who’ll make his shroud? 
“I,” said the beetle,
“With my thread and needle. 
I’ll make his shroud.”

Who’ll carry the torch? 
“I,” said the linnet,
“I’ll come in a minute,
I’ll carry the torch.”

Who’ll be the clerk? 
“I,” said the lark,
“If it’s not in the dark,
I’ll be the clerk.”

Who’ll dig his grave? 
“I,” said the owl,
“With my spade and trowel
I’ll dig his grave.”

Who’ll be the parson? 
“I,” said the rook,
“With my little book,
I’ll be the parson.”

Who’ll be chief mourner? 
“I,” said the dove,
“I mourn for my love,
I’ll be chief mourner.”

Who’ll sing a psalm? 
“I,” said the thrush,
“As I sit in a bush. 
I’ll sing a psalm.”

Who’ll carry the coffin? 
“I,” said the kite,
“If it’s not in the night,
I’ll carry the coffin.”

Who’ll toll the bell? 
“I,” said the bull,
“Because I can pull,
I’ll toll the bell.”

All the birds of the air
Fell sighing and sobbing,
When they heard the bell toll
For poor Cock Robin.

THE MOUSE AND THE CLOCK

Hickory, dickory, dock! 
The mouse ran up the clock;
  The clock struck one,
  And down he run,
Hickory, dickory, dock!

HOT-CROSS BUNS

    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.

BOBBY SHAFTOE

Bobby Shaftoe’s gone to sea,
With silver buckles on his knee: 
He’ll come back and marry me,
    Pretty Bobby Shaftoe! 
Bobby Shaftoe’s fat and fair,
Combing down his yellow hair;
He’s my love for evermore,
    Pretty Bobby Shaftoe.

THE BUNCH OF BLUE RIBBONS

Oh, dear, what can the matter be? 
Oh, dear, what can the matter be? 
Oh, dear, what can the matter be? 
    Johnny’s so long at the fair.

He promised he’d buy me a bunch of blue ribbons,
He promised he’d buy me a bunch of blue ribbons,
He promised he’d buy me a bunch of blue ribbons,
To tie up my bonny brown hair.

THE WOMAN OF EXETER

There dwelt an old woman at Exeter;
When visitors came it sore vexed her,
    So for fear they should eat,
    She locked up all her meat,
This stingy old woman of Exeter.