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5
And when the chicken is in it's shell,
I'm sure it hath no bone;
The dove it is a gentle bird,
It flies without a ga',
And we shall both lie in ae bed,
And thou's lie next the wa'.
Hold away from me, kind Sir,
I pray you give me o'er,
For I will not go to your bed,
Till you tell me questions four.
Questions four yon must tell me,
And that is twa and twa,
Or I will not lie in your bed,
Neither at stock nor wa'.
You must get me some winter fruit,
That in December grew;
And I must have a silk mantel,
That waft was ne'er cad thro'
What bird sings best, what'wood buds first,
What dew does on them fa;
And then I'll lie into your bed,
Either at stock, or wa',
My father has some winter fruit,
That in December grew
My mother has a silk mantle,
