Kept twigging with pride the Michaelmas goose;
Whilst she with her neck broke, seem’d to be
The best of all gooses that could be.
Oh! the Michaelmas goose,
Oh! the Michaelmas goose.
“I’m tired of walking,” an old maid did cry,
“I’ve walk’d to the market a goose for to buy:
And poulterer be sure that you give me, I pray;
The best of your gooses for Michaelmas day!”
Then a thief ran by, and straight began,