Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells, and cockle shells,
And cowslips all of a row.
Bonny lass, pretty lass, wilt thou be mine?
Thou shall not wash dishes,
Nor yet serve the swine;
Thou shalt sit on a cushion, and sew a fine seam,
And thou shalt eat strawberries, sugar, and cream!
