She stole oranges, I do believe.


Ride away, ride away,
Johnny shall ride,
And he shall have pussy-cat
Tied to one side;
And he shall have little dog
Tied to the other,
And Johnny shall ride
To see his grandmother.


Hush-a-bye, baby, lie still with thy daddy,
Thy mammy is gone to the mill,
To get some meal to bake a cake;
So pray, my dear baby, lie still.


Little lad, little lad,
Where were you born?
Far off in Lancashire, under a thorn,
Where they sup butter-milk
With a ram's horn;
And a pumpkin scoop'd,
With a yellow rim,
Is the bonny bowl they breakfast in.


Pretty John Watts,