In the month of February,
When green leaves begin to spring,
Little lambs do skip like fairies,
Birds do couple, build, and sing.

DLIII.

Pussy sits behind the fire,
How can she be fair?
In comes the little dog,
Pussy, are you there?
So, so, Mistress Pussy,
Pray how do you do?
Thank you, thank you, little dog,
I'm very well just now.

DLIV.

The dove says coo, coo, what shall I do?
I can scarce maintain two.
Pooh, pooh, says the wren, I have got ten,
And keep them all like gentlemen!

DLV.

Bow, wow, wow,
Whose dog art thou?
Little Tom Tinker's dog,
Bow, wow, wow.

DLVI.

Pitty Patty Polt,
Shoe the wild colt!
Here a nail;
And there a nail;
Pitty Patty Polt.

DLVII.

How d' 'e dogs, how? whose dog art thou,
Little Tom Tinker's dog! what's that to thou?
Hiss! bow, a wow, wow!

DLVIII.

Bobbin-a-Bobbin bent his bow,
And shot at a woodcock and kill'd a yowe:
The yowe cried ba, and he ran away,
But never came back 'till midsummer-day.

DLIX.

A little cock sparrow sat on a green tree, (_tris_)
And he cherruped, he cherruped so merry was he; (_tris_)
A little cock-sparrow sat on a green tree,
And he cherruped, he cherruped so merry was he.

A naughty boy came with his wee bow and arrow, (_tris_)
Determined to shoot this little cock sparrow, (_tris_)
A naughty, &c.
Determined, &c.

This little cock sparrow shall make me a stew, (_tris_)
And his giblets shall make me a little pie too, (_tris_)
Oh, no! said ye sparrow I won't make a stew,
So he flapped his wings and away he flew!

DLX.

Snail, snail, put out your horns,
I'll give you bread and barleycorns.

DLXI.

[The following song is given in Whiter's 'Specimen, or a
Commentary on Shakespeare,' 8vo, London, 1794, p. 19, as
common in Cambridgeshire and Norfolk. Dr. Farmer gives another
version as an illustration of a ditty of Jacques in 'As You
Like It,' act ii, sc. 5. See Malone's Shakespeare, ed. 1821,
vol. vi, p. 398; Caldecott's 'Specimen,' 1819, note on 'As You
Like It,' p. 11; and Douce's 'Illustrations,' vol. i, p. 297.]

Dame, what makes your ducks to die?
What the pize ails 'em? what the pize ails 'em?
They kick up their heels, and there they lie,
What the pize ails 'em now?
Heigh, ho! heigh, ho!
Dame, what makes your ducks to die?
What a pize