On Saturday night, Shall be all my care To powder my locks And curl my hair. On Sunday morning My love will come in, When he will marry me With a gold ring. CCCCLXIX. Master I have, and I am his man, Gallop a dreary dun; Master I have, and I am his man, And I'll get a wife as fast as I can; With a heighly gaily gamberally, Higgledy piggledy, niggledy, niggledy, Gallop a dreary dun. CCCCLXX. I doubt, I doubt my fire is out, My little wife isn't at home; I'll saddle my dog, and I'll bridle my cat, And I'll go fetch my little wife home. [Illustration] CCCCLXXI. Young Roger came tapping at Dolly's window, Thumpaty, thumpaty, thump! He asked for admittance, she answered him "No!" Frumpaty, frumpaty, frump! "No, no, Roger, no! as you came you may go!" Stumpaty, stumpaty, stump! CCCCLXXII. Thomas and Annis met in the dark. "Good morning," said Thomas. "Good morning," said Annis. And so they began to talk. "I'll give you," says Thomas, "Give me," said Annis; "I prithee, love, tell me what?" "Some nuts," said Thomas. "Some nuts," said Annis; "Nuts are good to crack." "I love you," said Thomas. "Love me!" said Annis; "I prithee love tell me where?" "In my heart," said Thomas. "In your heart!" said Annis; "How came you to love me there?" "I'll marry you," said Thomas. "Marry me!" said Annis; "I prithee, love, tell me when?" "Next Sunday," said Thomas. "Next Sunday," said Annis; "I wish next Sunday were come." CCCCLXXIII. Saw ye aught of my love a coming from ye market! A peck of meal upon her back, A babby in her basket; Saw ye aught of my love a coming from the market? CCCCLXXIV. [This nursery song may probably commemorate a part of Tom Thumb's history, extant in a Little Danish work, treating of 'Swain Tomling, a man no bigger than a thumb, who would be married to a woman three ells and three quarters long.' See Mr. Thoms' Preface to 'Tom & Lincoln,' p. xi.] I had a little husband, No bigger than my thumb; I put him in a pint pot, And there I bid him drum. I bought a little horse, That galloped up and down; I bridled him, and saddled him, And sent him out of town. I gave him some garters, To garter up his hose, And a little handkerchief, To wipe his pretty nose. CCCCLXXV. Can you make me a cambric shirt, Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme; Without any seam or needlework? And you shall be a true lover of mine. Can you wash it in yonder well, Parsley, &c. Where never sprung water, nor rain ever fell? And you, &c. Can you dry it on yonder thorn, Parsley, &c. Which never bore blossom since Adam was born? And you, &c. Now you have ask'd me questions three, Parsley, &c. I hope you'll answer as many for me, And you, &c.