Who knocks at Martha’s door, he cried, and poor old Martha wakes?
It is her little pet, said she, who brings her nice sweet cakes.
God help you, dearest, cried the wolf, so pull the string you know;
And up the latch will go, my love, and you may enter so.
Then up she jump’d to reach the string, and open flew the door;
And in she stepp’d, and fasten’d it, just as it was before.
Now take off your red riding-hood, and come to me in bed:
He spake with an affected voice, and cover’d up his head.
The little damsel, as he spoke, just saw his hairy nose:
Yet now she did as she was bid, and so pull’d off her clothes.