One misty moisty morning When cloudy was the weather, There I met an old man Clothed all in leather; Clothed all in leather, With cap under his chin,-- How do you do, and how do you do, And how do you do again! CXXXIII. The fox and his wife they had a great strife, They never eat mustard in all their whole life; They eat their meat without fork or knife, And loved to be picking a bone, e-ho! The fox jumped up on a moonlight night; The stars they were shining, and all things bright; Oh, ho! said the fox, it's a very fine night For me to go through the town, e-ho! The fox when he came to yonder stile, He lifted his lugs and he listened a while! Oh, ho! said the fox, it's but a short mile From this unto yonder wee town, e-ho! The fox when he came to the farmer's gate, Who should he see but the farmer's drake; I love you well for your master's sake, And long to be picking your bone, e-ho! The gray goose she ran round the hay-stack, Oh, ho! said the fox, you are very fat; You'll grease my beard and ride on my back From this into yonder wee town, e-ho! Old Gammer Hipple-hopple hopped out of bed, She opened the casement, and popped out her head; Oh! husband, oh! husband, the gray goose is dead, And the fox is gone through the town, oh! Then the old man got up in his red cap, And swore he would catch the fox in a trap; But the fox was too cunning, and gave him the slip, And ran thro' the town, the town, oh! When he got to the top of the hill, He blew his trumpet both loud and shrill, For joy that he was safe Thro' the town, oh! When the fox came back to his den, He had young ones both nine and ten, "You're welcome home, daddy, you may go again, If you bring us such nice meat From the town, oh!" CXXXIV. 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.