The ball is ours, and not yours,
We go out and gather the flowers.
—Cornwall (Folk-lore Journal, v. 52-53).
Queen Anne, Queen Anne, she sits in the sun,
As fair as a lily, so white and wan;
A pair of kid gloves she holds in her hand,
There’s no such a lady in all the fair land.
Turn all.
The more we turn the better we are,
For we’ve got the ball between us.
—North Kelsey, Lincolnshire (Miss M. Peacock).
Lady Queen Anne she sits on a stand [sedan],
She is fair as a lily, she is white as a swan;
A pair of green gloves all over her hand,
She is the fairest lady in all the land.
Come taste my lily, come smell my rose,
Which of my babes do you choose?
I choose not one, but I choose them all,
So please, Miss Nell, give up the ball.
The ball is ours, it is not yours,
We will go to the woods and gather flowers;
We will get pins to pin our clothes,
You will get nails to nail your toes.