In marble walls as white as milk,
Lined with a skin as soft as silk;
Within a fountain crystal clear,
A golden apple doth appear.
No doors there are to this stronghold,
Yet thieves break in and steal the gold.
Thirty white horses upon a red hill,
Now they tramp, now they champ, now they stand still.
Black within and red without;
Four corners round about.
Little Nan Etticoat,
In a white petticoat,
And a red nose;
The longer she stands,
The shorter she grows.