There was an old person of Rye,
    Who went up to town on a fly;
    But they said, “If you cough, you are safe to fall off! 
    You abstemious old person of Rye!”

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    There was an old person of Crowle,
    Who lived in the nest of an owl;
    When they screamed in the nest, he screamed out with the rest,
    That depressing old person of Crowle.

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    There was an old Lady of Winchelsea,
    Who said, “If you needle or pin shall see
    On the floor of my room, sweep it up with the broom!”
    That exhaustive old Lady of Winchelsea!

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    There was an old man in a tree,
    Whose whiskers were lovely to see;
    But the birds of the air pluck’d them perfectly bare,
    To make themselves nests in that tree.

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    There was a young lady of Corsica,
    Who purchased a little brown saucy-cur;
    Which she fed upon ham, and hot raspberry jam,
    That expensive young lady of Corsica.

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    There was a young lady of Firle,
    Whose hair was addicted to curl;
    It curled up a tree, and all over the sea,
    That expansive young lady of Firle.

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    There was an old person of Stroud,
    Who was horribly jammed in a crowd;
    Some she slew with a kick, some she scrunched with a stick,
    That impulsive old person of Stroud.

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    There was an old man of Boulak,
    Who sate on a Crocodile’s back;
    But they said, “Towr’ds the night he may probably bite,
    Which might vex you, old man of Boulak!”

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    There was an old person of Skye,
    Who waltz’d with a Bluebottle fly: 
    They buzz’d a sweet tune, to the light of the moon,
    And entranced all the people of Skye.

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    There was an old man of Blackheath,
    Whose head was adorned with a wreath
    Of lobsters and spice, pickled onions and mice,
    That uncommon old man of Blackheath.

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    There was an old man, who when little
    Fell casually into a kettle;
    But, growing too stout, he could never get out,
    So he passed all his life in that kettle.

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    There was an old person of Dundalk,
    Who tried to teach fishes to walk;
    When they tumbled down dead, he grew weary, and said,
    “I had better go back to Dundalk!”

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    There was an old person of Shoreham,
    Whose habits were marked by decorum;
    He bought an Umbrella, and sate in the cellar,
    Which pleased all the people of Shoreham.

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    There was an old person of Bar,
    Who passed all her life in a jar,
    Which she painted pea-green, to appear more serene,
    That placid old person of Bar.