Tell tale tit, your tongue shall be slit,
And all the dogs in our town shall have a bit.


Saturday night shall be my whole care
To powder my locks and curl my hair;
On Sunday morning my love will come in
And marry me then with a pretty gold ring.


Dear Sensibility, O la!
I heard a little lamb cry, baa!
Says I, "So you have lost mamma?"
"Ah!"

The little lamb, as I said so,
Frisking about the fields did go,
And, frisking, trod upon my toe.
"Oh!"


Pease porridge hot, pease porridge cold,
Pease porridge in the pot nine days old.
Can you spell that with four letters?
Yes, I can--T H A T.


There was a man in our town
And he was wond'rous wise,