Up street and down street, each window's made of glass;
If you go to Tom Tickler's house, you'll find a pretty lass:
Hug her, and kiss her, and take her on your knee,
And whisper very close: Darling girl, do you love me?
As I was going up Pippen hill,
Pippen hill was dirty,
There I met a pretty Miss,
And she dropt me a curtsey.
Little Miss, pretty Miss,
Blessings light upon you,
If I had half-a-crown a day,
I'd spend it all upon you.
Dickery, dickery, dock,
The mouse ran up the clock:
The clock struck one,
And down he run;
Dickery, dickery, dock.
Barnaby Bright he was a sharp cur,
He always would bark if a mouse did but stir:
But now he's grown old, and can no longer bark,
He's condemn'd by the parson to be hang'd by the clerk.