Is Buttercup broth,”
said she, and smacked her lips.
“Good, by my troth,
Is witch daughter broth,”
sang Buttercup out on the roof.
“Who was that?” asked the witch.
“Oh, it was only a bird singing outside,” said her husband, and he took the spoon himself and tasted the broth.
“Good, by my troth,
Is Buttercup broth,”
said he.