He carried it home,
To his good wife Joan,
And bid her make a fire for to bake, bake, bake,
To roast the little duck
He had shot in the brook,
And he'd go fetch her next the drake, drake, drake.
The drake was swimming
With his curly tail,
The little man made it his mark, mark, mark.
But he let off his gun,
And he fired too soon,
So the drake flew away with a quack, quack, quack.
XXXIX. SING A SONG OF SIXPENCE
Sing a song of sixpence,
A pocket full of rye,
Four and twenty blackbirds,
Bakèd in a pie.
When the pie was opened
The birds began to sing,
Was not this a dainty dish
To set before the king?
The king was in his counting-house,
Counting out his money;
