WEE WILLIE WINKIE
WEE WILLIE WINKIE runs through the town,
Up stairs and down stairs, in his nightgown,
Rapping at the window, crying through the lock:
"Are the children in their beds, for it's past eight o'clock."
BAA, BAA, BLACK SHEEP
Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool?
Yes, marry, have I, three bags full:
One for my master, one for my dame,
But none for the little boy who cries in the lane.
