I. The wind, the wind, the wind blows high, The rain comes pouring from the sky; Miss So-and-So says she’d die For the sake of the old man’s eye. She is handsome, she is pretty, She is the lass of the golden city; She goes courting one, two, three, Please to tell me who they be. A. B. says he loves her, All the boys are fighting for her, Let the boys say what they will A. B. has got her still. —Forest of Dean, Gloucestershire (Miss Matthews). II. The wind, wind blows, and the rain, rain goes, And the clouds come gathering from the sky! _Annie Dingley’s_ very, very pretty, She is a girl of a noble city; She’s the girl of one, two, three, Pray come tell me whose she’ll be. _Johnny Tildersley_ says he loves her, All the boys are fighting for her, All the girls think nothing of her. Let the boys say what they will, _Johnny Tildersley’s_ got her still. He takes her by the lily-white hand And leads her over the water, Gives her kisses one, two, three, Mrs. _Dingley’s_ daughter! —Berrington, Eccleshall (_Shropshire Folk-lore_, p. 510). III. When the wind blows high, When the wind blows high, The rain comes peltering from the sky. She is handsome, she is pretty, She is the girl in all the city. She [He?] comes courting one, two, three, Pray you tell me who she be. I love her, I love her, All the boys are fighting for her. Let them all say what they will, I shall love her always still. She pulled off her gloves to show me her ring, To-morrow, to-morrow, the wedding bells ring. —Cowes, Isle of Wight (Miss E. Smith). IV. The wind, the wind, the wind blows high, The rain comes falling from the sky. She is handsome, she is pretty, She is the girl of London city. She goes a courting one, two, three, Please will you tell me who is he? [Boy’s name] says he loves her. All the boys are fighting for her. Let the boys do what they will, [Boy’s name] has got her still. He knocks at the knocker and he rings at the bell, Please, Mrs. ——, is your daughter in? She’s neither ways in, she’s neither ways out, She’s in the back parlour walking about. Out she came as white as snow, With a rose in her breast as soft as silk. Please, my dear, will you have a drop of this? No, my dear, I’d rather have a kiss. —Settle, Yorks. (Rev. W. G. Sykes).