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.

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.

    Shoe the colt,
    Shoe the colt,
Shoe the wild mare;
    Here a nail,
    There a nail,
Colt must go bare.

There were two birds upon a stone,
               Fal de ral—­al de ral—­laddy. 
One flew away, and then there was one,
               Fal de ral—­al de ral—­laddy. 
The other flew after, and then there was none,
               Fal de ral—­al de ral—­laddy. 
So the poor stone was left all alone,
               Fal de ral—­al de ral—­laddy. 
One of these little birds back again flew,
               Fal de ral—­al de ral—­laddy. 
The other came after, and then there were two,
               Fal de ral—­al de ral—­laddy. 
Says one to the other, Pray how do you do,
               Fal de ral—­al de ral—­laddy. 
Very well, thank you, and pray how are you,
               Fal de ral—­al de ral—­laddy.

  I’ll tell you a story
  About Mary Morey,
And now my story’s begun. 
  I’ll tell you another
  About her brother,
And now my story’s done.

   Nose, Nose, jolly red Nose,
  And what gave you that jolly red Nose? 
Nutmegs and cinnamon, spices and cloves,
  And they gave me this jolly red Nose.

  Sweep, sweep,
  Chimney sweep,
From the bottom to the top,
  Sweep all up,
  Chimney sweep,
From the bottom to the top.

Climb by rope,
  Or climb by ladder,
Without either,
  I’ll climb farther.

    One misty, moisty morning,
    When cloudy was the weather,
I chanced to meet an old man clothed all in leather. 
He began to compliment, and I began to grin,
    How do you do, and how do you do? 
    And how do you do again?

  In April’s sweet month,
When the leaves ’gin to spring,
  Little lambs skip like fairies
And birds build and sing.

There was an old woman tost up in a blanket,
Seventy times as high as the moon,
What she did there, I cannot tell you,
but in her hand she carried a broom. 
Old woman, old woman, old woman, said I,
O whither, O whither, O whither so high? 
To sweep the cobwebs from the sky,
And I shall be back again by and by.

Shoe the horse, and shoe the mare,
But let the little colt go bare.

The North wind doth blow,
And we shall have snow,
And what will poor robin do then? 
Poor thing! 
He’ll sit in the barn
And keep himself warm,
And hide his head under his wing,
Poor thing!

Cold and raw the North winds blow
  Bleak in the morning early,
All the hills are covered with snow,
  And winter’s now come fairly.