Old King Cole
Was a merry old soul,
And a merry old soul was he;
He called for his pipe,
And he called for his bowl,
And he called for his fiddlers three.
Every fiddler, he had a fiddle,
And a very fine fiddle had he;
Twee tweedle dee, tweedle dee, went the fiddlers.
Oh, there’s none so rare,
As can compare
With King Cole and his fiddlers three!
Old Mother Goose, when
She wanted to wander,
Would ride through the air
On a very fine gander.
Mother Goose had a house,
’Twas built in a wood,
Where an owl at the door
For sentinel stood.
This is her son Jack,
A plain-looking lad,
He is not very good,
Nor yet very bad.
She sent him to market,
A live goose he bought;
“Here, mother,” says he,
“It will not go for nought.”
Jack’s goose and her gander
Grew very fond,
They’d both eat together,
Or swim in one pond.
Jack found one morning,
As I have been told,
His goose had laid him
An egg of pure gold.
Jack rode to his mother,
The news for to tell;
She call’d him a good boy,
And said it was well.
Jack sold his gold egg
To a rogue of a Jew,
Who cheated him out of
The half of his due.
Then Jack went a-courting
A lady so gay,
As fair as the lily
And sweet as the May.
The Jew and the Squire
Came close at his back,
And began to belabour
The sides of poor Jack.
They threw the gold egg
In the midst of the sea;
But Jack he jump’d in,
And got it back presently.
The Jew got the goose,
Which he vow’d he would kill,
Resolving at once
His pockets to fill.
Jack’s mother came in,
And caught the goose soon,
And, mounting its back,
Flew up to the moon.
