him up with a pluck,
Kitty alone, Kitty alone;
This duck she swallow'd him up with a pluck,
So there's an end of my history book.
Cock me cary, Kitty alone,
Kitty alone and I.

CLXXIV.

There was a man in our toone, in our toone, in our toone,
There was a man in our toone, and his name was Billy Pod;
And he played upon an old razor, an old razor, an old razor,
And he played upon an old razor, with my fiddle fiddle fe fum fo.

And his hat it was made of the good roast beef, the good roast beef,
the good roast beef,
And his hat it was made of the good roast beef,
and his name was Billy Pod;
And he played upon an old razor, &c.

And his coat it was made of the good fat tripe, the good fat tripe,
the good fat tripe,
And his coat it was made of the good fat tripe,
and his name was Billy Pod;
And he played upon an old razor, &c.

And his breeks were made of the bawbie baps, the bawbie baps,
the bawbie baps,
And his breeks were made of the bawbie baps,
and his name was Billy Pod;
And he played upon an old razor, &c.

And there was a man in tither toone, in tither toone, in tither
toone,
And there was a man in tither toone, and his name was Edrin Drum;
And he played upon an old laadle, an old laadle, an old laadle,
And he played upon an old laadle, with my fiddle fiddle fe fum fo.

And he eat up all the good roast beef, the good roast beef, &c. &c.
And he eat up all the good fat tripe, the good fat tripe, &c. &c.
And he eat up all the bawbie baps, &c. and his name was Edrin Drum.

CLXXV.

John Cook had a little grey mare; he, haw, hum!
Her back stood up, and her bones they were bare; he, haw, hum!

John Cook was riding up Shuter's bank; he, haw, hum!
And there his nag did kick and prank; he, haw, hum!

John Cook was riding up Shuter's hill; he, haw, hum!
His mare fell down, and she made her will; he, haw, hum!

The bridle and saddle were laid on the shelf; he, haw, hum!
If you want any more you may sing it yourself; he, haw, hum!

CLXXVI.

A carrion crow sat on an oak,
Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do,
Watching a tailor shape his cloak;
Sing heigh ho, the carrion crow,
Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do.

Wife, bring me my old bent bow,
Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do,
That I may shoot yon carrion crow;
Sin