tree is known by its fruit.

* * * * *

When I was a little boy, I lived by myself,
And all the bread and cheese I got I put upon the shelf;
The rats and the mice did lead me such a life,
I was forced to go to London to buy me a wife.

The streets were so broad, and the lanes were so narrow,
I could not get my wife home without a wheelbarrow;
The wheelbarrow broke, my wife got a fall,
Down tumbled wheelbarrow, little wife, and all.

* * * * *

Where are you going, my pretty maid?
"I'm going a-milking, sir," she said.
May I go with you, my pretty maid?
"You're kindly welcome, sir," she said.
What is your father, my pretty maid?
"My father's a farmer, sir," she said.

Say, will you marry me, my pretty maid?
"Yes, if you please, kind sir," she said.
Will you be constant, my pretty maid?
"That I can't promise you, sir," she said.
Then I won't marry you, my pretty maid!
"Nobody asked you, sir!" she said.

* * * * *

Who killed Cock Robin?
"I," said the Sparrow,
"With my bow and arrow,
I killed Cock Robin."

Who saw him die?
"I," said the Fly,
"With my little eye,
And I saw him die."

Who caught his blood?
"I," said the Fish,
"With my little dish,
And I caught his blood."

Who made his shroud?
"I," said the Beadle,
"With my little needle,
And I made his shroud."

Who shall dig his grave?
"I," said the Owl,
"With my spade and showl [shovel],
And I'll dig his grave."

Who'll be the parson?
"I," said the Rook,
"With my little book,
And I'll be the parson"

Who'll be the clerk?
"I," said the Lark,
"If it's not in the dark,
And I'll be the clerk."

Who'll carry him to the grave?
"I," said the Kite,
"If 't is not in the night,
And I'll carry him to his grave."

Who'll carry the link?
"I," said the Linnet,
"I'll fetch it in a minute,
And I'll carry the link."

Who'll be the chief mourner?
"I," said the Dove,
"I mourn for my love,
And I'll be chief mourner."

Who'll bear the pall?
"We," said the Wren,
Both the cock and the hen,
"And we'll bear the pall."

Who'll sing a psalm?
"I," said the Thrush,
As she sat in a bush,
"And I'll sing a psalm."

And who'll toll the bell?
"I," said the Bull,
"Because I can pull;"
And so, Cock Robin, farewell.

EPITAPH FOR ROBIN REDBREAST.

Thou shalt have a little bed
Made for thee, and oversp