Before the cock-horse is mounted, we should learn to remember:
The rule of the road is a paradox quite,
And custom has prov'd it so long:
He that goes to the left is sure to go right,
And he that goes right must go wrong.
Come, let's to bed,
Says Sleepy-head;
Sit up awhile, says Slow;
Hang on the pot,
Says greedy-gut,
Let's sup before we go.
There was an old woman
Liv'd under a hill,
She put a mouse in a bag,
And sent it to mill:
The miller did swear,
By the point of his knife,
He never took toll
Of a mouse in his life.
There was an old woman,
And she sold puddings and pies,
She went to the mill,
And the dust flew into her eyes:
Hot pies and cold pies to sell!
Wherever she goes you may follow her by the smell.