John, come sell thy fiddle,
And buy thy wife a gown.
No, I'll not sell my fiddle,
For ne'er a wife in town.
Goose-a, goose-a, gander,
Where shall I wander?
Up stairs, down stairs,
In my lady's chamber;
There you'll find a cup of sack
And a race of ginger.
THE SPEECH OF THE HORSE THAT SPOKE TO HIS MASTER.
Up the hill take care of me,
Down the hill take care of thee,
Give me no water while I am hot,
On level ground spare me not.[D]
[D] N.B.—Don't you think he might as well have kept the last piece of advice to himself?
Sometimes the speech of the horse reminds his master of that which is better:
Up hill ride me not;
Down hill gallop me not;
On level ground spare me not;
And in the stable forget me not.