Take this, What’s this? Hewley Puley. Where’s my share? About the kite’s neck. Where’s the kite? Flown to the wood. Where’s the wood? The fire has burned it. Where’s the fire? The water’s quenched it. Where’s the water? The ox has drunk it. Where’s the ox? The butcher has killed it. Where’s the butcher? The rope has hanged him. Where’s the rope? The rat has gnawed it. Where’s the rat? The cat has killed it. Where’s the cat? Behind the door, cracking pebble-stones and marrow-bones for yours and my supper, and the one who speaks first shall have a box on the ear. —Halliwell’s _Nursery Rhymes_, p. 222. The children are seated, and the questions are put by one of the party who holds a twisted handkerchief or something of the sort in the hand. The handkerchief was called “hewley puley,” and the questions are asked by the child who holds it. If one answers wrongly, a box on the ear with the handkerchief was the consequence; but if they all replied correctly, the one who broke silence first had that punishment. For similar rhymes see “Dump,” “Mother, may I go out?” Hey Wullie Wine I. Hey Wully wine, and How Wully wine, I hope for hame ye’ll no incline; Ye’ll better light, and stay a’ night, And I’ll gie thee a lady fine. Wha will ye gie, if I wi’ ye bide, To be my bonny blooming bride, And lie down lovely by my side? I’ll gie thee Kate o’ Dinglebell, A bonny body like yersell. I’ll stick her up in the pear-tree Sweet and meek, and sae is she: I lo’ed her ance, but she’s no for me, Yet I thank ye for your courtesy. I’ll gie thee Rozie o’ the Cleugh, I’m sure she’ll please thee weel eneugh. Up wi’ her on the bane dyke, She’ll be rotten or I’ll be ripe: She’s made for some ither, and no me, Yet I thank ye for your courtesy. Then I’ll gie ye Nell o’ sweet Sprinkell, Owre Galloway she bears the bell. I’ll set her up in my bed-head, And feed her wi’ milk and bread; She’s for nae ither, but jist for me, Sae I thank ye for your courtesy. —Mactaggart’s _Gallovidian Encyclopædia_. II. I maun ride hame, I maun gang hame, And bide nae langer here; The road is lang, the mirk soon on, And howlets mak’ me fear.