John Patch made the match,
John Clint made the flint,
John Puzzle made the muzzle,

John Crowder made the powder,
John Block made the stock,

John Wyming made the priming,
John Brammer made the rammer,
John Scott made the shot,

But John Ball shot them all.

CCCLXIII.

Little Tommy Tacket,

Sits upon his cracket ;*

Half a yard of cloth will make him coat and jacket; Make him coat and jacket,

Breeches to the knee.

And if you will not have him, you may let him be.

CCCLXIV.

Green leaves and pudding pies,

Tell me where my mistress lies,

And I'll be with her before she rise,

Fiddle and aw' together.

A little three-legged stool seen by the ingle of every cottage

in the north of England.

CCCLXV.

Go to bed, Tom!
Go to bed, Tom!

Drunk or sober,

Go to bed, Tom!

CCCLXVI.

Old woman, old woman, shall we go a shearing? Speak a little louder, sir, I am very thick of hearing. Old woman, old woman, shall I kiss you dearly? Thank you, kind sir, I hear you very clearly!

CCCLXVII.

[From "Histrio-maxtix, or, the Player Whipt," 4to, Loud. 1610. Mr. Rimbault tells me this is common in Yorkshire.]

Some up, some down,

There are players, in town,

You wot well who they be;

The sun doth rise,

To three companies,

One, two, three, four make wee!

Besides we that travel,

With pumps full of gravel, Made of such running leather:

That once in a week,

New masters we seek,

And never can hold together.

FOURTEENTH CLASS—FRAGMENTS.

CCCLXVIII.

Little boy, pretty boy, where was you born?
In Lincolnshire, master: come blow the cow's horn.
A half-penny pudding, a penny pie,

A shoulder of mutton, and that love I.

CCCLXIX.

When I was a little boy, I had but little wit,
It is some time ago and I've no more yet;
Nor ever ever shall, until that I die,

For the longer I live, the more fool am I.

AC