Bonny lass! bonny lass! Will you be mine? You shall neither wash dishes Nor serve the wine, But sit on a cushion and sew up a seam, And you shall have strawberries, sugar, and cream. I won't be my father's Jack, I won't be my father's Jill, I will be the fiddler's wife, And have music when I will. T'other little tune, t'other little tune, Prythee, love, play me t'other little tune. London bridge is broken down, Dance over my Lady Lee, London bridge is broken down, With a gay ladye. How shall we build it up again? Dance over my Lady Lee, How shall we build it up again? With a gay ladye. We'll build it up with gravel and stone, Dance over my Lady Lee, We'll build it up with gravel and stone, With a gay ladye. Gravel and stone will be washed away, Dance over my Lady Lee, Gravel and stone will be washed away, With a gay ladye. We'll build it up with iron and steel, Dance over my Lady Lee, We'll build it up with iron and steel, With a gay ladye. Iron and steel will bend and break, Dance over my Lady Lee, Iron and steel will bend and break, With a gay ladye. We'll build it up with silver and gold, Dance over my Lady Lee, We'll build it up with silver and gold, With a gay ladye. Silver and gold will be stolen away, Dance over my Lady Lee, Silver and gold will be stolen away, With a gay ladye. We'll set a man to watch it then, Dance over my Lady Lee, We'll set a man to watch it then, With a gay ladye. Suppose the man should fall asleep, Dance over my Lady Lee, Suppose the man should fall asleep, With a gay ladye. We'll put a pipe into his mouth, Dance over my Lady Lee, We'll put a pipe into his mouth, With a gay ladye. Tom, Tom, the piper's son, Stole a pig, and away he run; The pig was eat, And Tom was beat, And Tom ran crying down the street. Little king Boggen he built a fine hall, Pie-crust and pastry-crust, that was the wall; The windows were made of black-puddings and white, And slated with pancakes--you ne'er saw the like. To bed, to bed, says Sleepy-Head; Let's stay a while, says Slow; Put on a pot, says Greedy-Sot, We'll sup before we go. Dingty diddledy, my mammy's maid, She stole oranges, I am afraid: Some in her pocket, some in her sleeve, 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.