“Fire! fire!” says the Crier,
“Where? where?” says Lord Mayor.
“In the town,” says Billy Brown.
“Has it done much damage?” says Billy Cabbage.
“Only burnt a few fellows,” says Billy Bellows,
“Is that all?” says Billy Ball.
“Yes, and plenty, too,” says Billy Blue.
To market ride the gentlemen,
So do we, so do we;
Then comes the country clown,
Hobbledy gee! hobbledy gee!
First go to the ladies, nim, nim, nim!
Next comes the gentlemen, trim, trim, trim!
Then come the country clowns, gallop-a-trot!
LEICESTERSHIRE RIME
If all the waters was wan sea,
And all the trees was wan tree,
And this here tree should fall into that there sea,
Moy, sirs! what a splish-splash there’d be!
He that will fish for a Lancashire lad,
At any time or tide,
Must bait his hook with a good egg py,
Or an apple with a red side.