They are all too black or too proudy,
They sit in the sun so cloudy;
With golden chains around their necks,
That makes them look so proudy.
They’re good enough for you, sir! &c.
I’ll walk the kitchen and the hall,
And take the fairest of them all;
The fairest one that I can see
Is Miss ——
So Miss ——, come to me.
Now we’ve got this pretty girl,
This pretty girl, this pretty girl;
Now we’ve got this pretty girl,
Of a cold and frosty morning.
—Symondsbury, Dorsetshire (Folk-lore Journal, vii. 222-223).
Here come three dukes a-riding, a-riding, a-riding,
Here come three dukes a-riding;
With a ransom, tansom, tisamy, tea!
What is your good will, sirs? &c.
My good will is to marry, &c.
One of my fair daughters? &c.