CCCCLXXXVII.
There was a little pretty lad,
And he lived by himself,
And all the meat he got
He put upon a shelf.
The rats and the mice
Did lead him such a life,
That he went to Ireland
To get himself a wife.
The lanes they were so broad,
And the fields they were so narrow,
He couldn't get his wife home
Without a wheelbarrow.
The wheelbarrow broke,
My wife she got a kick,
The deuce take the wheelbarrow,
That spared my wife's neck.