LD King Cole

Was a merry old soul, And a merry old soul was he; He called for his pipe, And he called for his bowl, And he called for his fiddlers three.

Every fiddler, he had a fiddle,
And a very fine fiddle had he;
Twee tweedle dee, tweedle dee, went the fiddlers.
Oh, there's none so rare,
As can compare
With King Cole and his fiddlers three !

WHI

HEN good King Arthur ruled this land,

He was a goodly king;
He stole three pecks of barley-meal,

To make a bag-pudding.

A bag-pudding the king did make,

And stuff'd it well with plums : And in it put great lumps of fat,

As big as my two thumbs.

The king and queen did eat thereof,

And noblemen beside;
And what they could not eat that night,

The queen next morning fried.