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T

C.

The cock's on the dunghill a blowing his horn;
The bull's in the barn a thrashing of corn;
The maids in the meadow are making of hay;
The ducks in the rivers are swimming away.

CI.

Yankee Doodle came to town,
How do you think they serv'd him?
One took his bag, another his scrip,
The quicker for to starve him.

CII.

Little Jenny Wren fell sick upon a time,

When in came Robin Red-breast, and brought her

bread and wine;

"Eat, Jenny, drink, Jenny, all shall be thine!"

Then Jenny she got better, and stood upon her feet,
And says to little Robin, "I love thee not a bit!"
Then Robin he was angry and flew upon a twig,
"Hoot upon thee, fie upon thee, ungrateful chit!”

CIII.

[Another version.]

Jenny Wren fell sick
Upon a merry time;

In came Robin Red-breast,

And brought her sops and wine.

Eat well of the sop, Jenny,

Drink well of the wine; Thank you, Robin, kindly, You shall be mine.

Jenny, she got well,

And stood upon her feet,

And told Robin plainly,

She lov'd him not a bit.

Robin being angry,

Hopped on a twig,

Saying, out upon you,

Fy upon you, bold faced jig!

CIV.

THE STORY OF CATSKIN.

[As related by an old nurse, aged eighty-one. The story is of oriental origin; but the song, as recited, was so very imperfect, that a few necessary additions and alterations have been made.]

There once was a gentleman grand,

Who lived at his country-seat;

He wanted an heir to his land,

For he'd nothing but daughters yet.

His lady's again in the way,

So she said to her husband with joy;

"I hope some or other fine day,

To present you, my dear, with a boy."

The gentlemen answered gruff,

"If t should turn out a maid or a mouse,
For of both we have more than enough,
She shan't stay to live in my house."

The lady at this declaration,

Almost fainted away with pain;
But what was her sad consternation,

When a sweet little girl came again!

She sent her away to be nurs'd,
Without seeing her gruff papa;
And when she was old enough,

To a school she was packed away.

Fifteen summers are fled,

Now she left good Mrs. Jervis ; To see home she was forbid,—

She determined to go and seek service.

Her dresses so grand and so gay,

She carefully rolled in a knob ; Which she hid in a forest away, And put on a Catskin robe.

She knock'd at a castle gate,
And prayed for charity;

They sent her some meat on a plate,
And kept her a scullion to be.

My lady looked long in her face,
And prais'd her great beauty;
I'm sorry I've no better place,
And you must our scullion be.

So Catskin was under the cook,
A very sad life she led,
For often a ladle she took,

And broke poor Catskin's head.

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