As I was going to St. Ives,
I met a man with seven wives,
Every wife had seven sacks,
Every sack had seven cats,
Every cat had seven kits.
Kits, cats, sacks, and wives,
How many were there going to St. Ives?
Go to bed first, a golden purse;
Go to bed second, a golden pheasant;
Go to bed third, a golden bird.
There was an old woman, and what do you think?
She lived upon nothing but victuals and drink;
Victuals and drink were the chief of her diet,
Yet the plaguey old woman would never be quiet.
She went to the baker's to buy some bread;
And when she came home her husband was dead.
She went to the clerk, to toll the great bell;
And when she came back, her husband was well.
Some little mice sat in a barn to spin,
Pussy came by, and she popped her head in.
"Shall I come in and cut your threads off?"
"Oh, no, kind sir, you will snap our heads off."