Now you’re married I wish you joy, First a girl and then a boy; Seven years old a son and daughter, Play and cuddle and kiss together. Kiss her once, kiss her twice, Kiss her three times over. —Deptford (Miss Chase). VII. There stands a lady on the mountain, Who she is I do not know: Oh! she wants such gold and silver! Oh! she wants such a nice young man! Now you’re married I wish you joy, First a girl and then a boy; Seven years after a son and a daughter, Kiss your bride and come out of the ring. —Berkshire (Miss Thoyts, _Antiquary_; xxvii. 254). (_b_) A ring is formed, one child in the centre. The ring sing the first verse, and then the centre child chooses one from the ring. The chosen pair kiss when the ring has sung the second. The first child then joins the ring, and the game begins again. In the Barnes version the centre child calls one to her from the ring by singing the second verse and naming the child she chooses. (_c_) A version from Lady C. Gurdon’s _Suffolk County Folk-lore_ (p. 62) is the same as previous versions, except that it ends— Now you’re married you must be good Make your husband chop the wood; Chop it fine and bring it in, Give three kisses in the ring. Other versions are much the same as the examples given. (_d_) This game has probably had its origin in a ballad. Miss Burne draws attention to its resemblance to the “Disdainful Lady” (_Shropshire Folk-lore_, p. 561), and Halliwell mentions a nursery rhyme (No. cccclxxix.) which is very similar. Mr. Newell (_Games_, p. 55) prints words and tune of a song which is very similar to that ballad, and he mentions the fact that he has seen it played as a round by the “Arabs of the street.” He considers it to be an old English song which has been fitted for a ring game by the addition of a verse. See “Lady on Yonder Hill.” Lady on Yonder Hill I. Yonder stands a lovely lady, Whom she be I do not know; I’ll go court her for my beauty, Whether she say me yea or nay. Madam, to thee I humbly bow and bend. Sir, I take thee not to be my friend. Oh, if the good fairy doesn’t come I shall die. —Derbyshire (_Folk-lore Journal_, i. 387).