LXVII.
Grey goose and gander, waft your wings together,
And carry the good king's daughter over the one-strand river.
LXVIII.
Old King Cole
Was a merry old soul,
And a merry old soul was he.
He called for his pipe,
And he called for his glass,
And he called for his fiddlers three.
Every fiddler, he had a fiddle,
And a very fine fiddle had he.
Twee-tweedle-dee, tweedle-dee, went the fiddlers.
Oh, there's none so rare
As can compare
With King Cole and his fiddlers three.
LXIX.
If I'd as much money as I could spend,
I never would cry, 'Old chairs to mend!
Old chairs to mend! Old chairs to mend!'
I never would cry, 'Old chairs to mend!'
If I'd as much money as I could tell,
I never would cry, 'Old clothes to sell!
Old clothes to sell! Old clothes to sell!'
I never would cry, 'Old clothes to sell!'
