Little General Monk
Sat upon a trunk,
Eating a crust of bread;
There fell a hot coal,
And burnt in his clothes a hole,
Now little General Monk is dead.
SALISBURY CATHEDRAL
As many days as in one year there be,
So many windows in this church you see.
As many marble pillars here appear,
As there are hours through the fleeting year.
As many gates as moons one here does view,
Strange tale to tell, but not more strange than true.
KENT
God made man, and man made money.
God made the bees, and the bees made honey.
God made the cooks, and the cooks made pies.
God made a little boy, and he told lies.
God made the world, as round as a ball,
In jumps Satan, and spoils it all.
God made Satan, and Satan made sin,
God made a little hole to put Satan in.
Essex stiles,
Kentish miles,
Norfolk wiles,
Many men beguiles.