Eighth Class.-Games.

CLXXXIII.

We are three brethren out of Spain,
Come to court your daughter Jane.
My daughter Jane she is too young,
And has not learn'd her mother-tongue.

Be she young, or be she old,

For her beauty she must be sold.

So fare you well, my lady gay,

We'll call again another day,

Turn back, turn back, thou scornful knight;

And rub thy spurs till they be bright.

Of my spurs take you no thought,

For in this town they were not bought.

So fare you well, my lady gay,

We'll call again another day.

Turn back, turn back, thou scornful knight,

And take the fairest in your sight.

The fairest maid that I can see,

Is pretty Nancy, come to me.

Here comes your daughter safe and sound, Every pocket with a thousand pound; Every finger with a gay gold ring;

Please to take your daughter in.

CLXXXIV.

HERE we come a piping,
First in spring and then in May,
The queen she sits upon the sand,
Fair as a lilly, white as a wand;
King John has sent you letters three,
And begs you'll read them unto me;
We can't read one, without them all,
So
pray Miss Bridget deliver the ball!

CLXXXV.

SIEVE my lady's oatmeal,
Grind my lady's flour,

Put it in a chesnut,

Let it stand an hour;

One may rush, two may rush,

Come, my girls, walk under the bush.

CLXXXVI.

GIRLS and boys, come out to play,

The moon does shine as bright as day;
Leave your supper and leave your sleep,
And come with your play-fellows into the street.
Come with a whistle, come with a call,
Come with a good will or not at all.

Up the ladder and down the wall,
A halfpenny roll will serve us all.

You find milk, and I'll find flour,
And we'll have a pudding in half an hour.

CLXXXVII.

I WON'T be my father's Jack,

I won't be my mother's Gill,

I will be the fiddler's wife,

And have music when I will.

T'other little tune,

T'other little tune,

Pr'ythee, love, play me

T'other little tune.

CLXXXVIII.

RIDE a cock horse,

To Banbury Cross,

To see what Tommy can buy ;

SEE saw, Jack in a hedge,

Which is the way to London bridge?
One foot up, and one foot down,
That is the best way to London town.

CXC.

THERE were two black-birds,

Sitting on a hill,

The one nam'd Jack,

The other nam'd Jill;

Fly away Jack!

Fly away Jill!

Come again Jack!

Come again Jill!

CXCI.

Tom Brown's two little Indian boys,

One ran away,

The other wouldn't stay,

Tom Brown's two little Indian boys.

CXCII.

[The following is a song to a nursery dance.]

GAY go up and gay go down,

To ring the bells of London Town.

Bull's eyes and targets,

Say the bells of St. Marg'ret's.

Brickbats and tiles,

Say the bells of St. Giles.

Halfpence and farthings,

Say the bells of St. Martin's.

Oranges and lemons,

Say the bells of St. Clement's.

Pancakes and fritters,

Say the bells at St. Peter's.

Two sticks and an apple,

Say the bells at Whitechapel.

Old Father Baldpate,

Say the slow bells at Aldgate.

You owe me ten shillings,

Say the bells at St. Helen's.