Nursery Rhyme. CXXXIV. Songs.

Little Tom Dogget,             What dost thou mean,         To kill thy poor Colly             Now she's so lean?         Sing, oh poor Colly,             Colly, my cow,         For Colly will give me             No more milk now.         I had better have kept her,             'Till fatter she had been,         For now, I confess,             She's a little too lean.         Sing, oh poor Colly, &c.         First in comes the tanner             With his sword by his side,         And he bids me five shillings             For my poor cow's hide.         Sing, oh poor Colly, &c.         Then in comes the tallow-chandler,             Whose brains were but shallow,         And he bids me two-and-sixpence             For my cow's tallow.         Sing, oh poor Colly, &c.         Then in comes the huntsman             So early in the morn,         He bids me a penny             For my cow's horn.         Sing, oh poor Colly, &c.         Then in comes the tripe-woman,             So fine and so neat,         She bids me three half-pence             For my cow's feet.         Sing, oh poor Colly, &c.         Then in comes the butcher,             That nimble-tongu'd youth,         Who said she was carrion,             But he spoke not the truth.         Sing, oh poor Colly, &c.         The skin of my cowly             Was softer than silk,         And three times a-day             My poor cow would give milk.         Sing, oh poor Colly, &c.         She every year             A fine calf did me bring,         Which fetcht me a pound,             For it came in the spring.         Sing, oh poor Colly, &c.         But now I have kill'd her,             I can't her recall;         I will sell my poor Colly,             Hide, horns, and all.         Sing, oh poor Colly, &c.         The butcher shall have her,             Though he gives but a pound,         And he knows in his heart             That my Colly was sound.         Sing, oh poor Colly, &c.         And when he has bought her             Let him sell all together,         The flesh for to eat,             And the hide for leather.         Sing, oh poor Colly, &c.[*]