She wore no hat upon her head, Nor cap, nor dandy bonnet, Her hair of her head it hung down her neck, Like a bunch of carrots upon it. When she cried sprats in Westminster, She had such a sweet loud voice, Sir, You could hear her all down Parliament Street, And as far as Charing Cross, Sir, The rich and poor both far and near, In matrimony sought her, But at friends and foes she cocked her nose, Did this pretty little Ratcatcher’s daughter. For there was a man cried “Lily white Sand,” Who in Cupid’s net had caught her, And over head and ears in love, Was the pretty little Ratcatcher’s daughter. Now, “Lily white Sand” so ran in her head, When coming down the Strand, oh, She forgot that she’d got sprats on her head, And cried “buy my lily white Sand oh!” The folks, amazed, all thought her crazed, All along the Strand, Oh, To hear a girl with sprats on her head, Cry, “buy my lily white Sand, oh!” The Ratcatcher’s Daughter so ran in his head, He didn’t know what he was arter, Instead of crying “Lily white Sand,” He cried “Do you want any Ratcatcher’s daughter.” His donkey cocked his ears and brayed, Folks couldn’t tell what he was arter, To hear a lily white sand man cry, “Do you want any Ratcatcher’s daughter?” Now they both agreed to married be, Upon next Easter Sunday, But the Ratcatcher’s daughter had a dream, That she shouldn’t be alive next Monday, To buy some sprats, once more she went, And tumbled into the water, Went down to the bottom, all covered with mud, Did the pretty little Ratcatcher’s daughter. When Lily white Sand he heard the news, His eyes ran down with water, Says he in love I’ll constant prove, And, blow me if I live long arter, So he cut his throat with a piece of glass, And stabbed his donkey arter, So there was an end of Lily white Sand, His ass, and the Ratcatcher’s daughter! [Illustration] _HOT CODLINGS._ A LITTLE old woman, a living she got, By selling hot codlings, hot, hot, hot! Now this little old woman, as I’ve been told, Though her codlings were hot, she was monstrously cold, So to keep herself warm, she thought no sin, For to go and take a small drop of gin, Fol-de-rol, etc. Now this little old woman went off in a trot, To get a quartern of hot, hot, hot! She swallowed a glass, and it was so nice, That she tipped off another, all in a trice, She fill’d the glass till the bottle it shrunk, And this little old woman I’m told got drunk. Now this little old woman, while muzzy she got, Some boys stole her codlings, hot, hot, hot! Put powder in the pan, and ’neath it round stones, Cried this little woman, these apples have bones. The powder and the pan up they did send, This little old woman on her latter end.