Page:A book of nursery songs and rhymes (1895).pdf/160

 The little maid she sighed, And very soon replied, 'But what shall we have for to eat, eat, eat? Will the flame that you're so rich in Make a fire in the kitchen? Or the little god of love turn the spit, spit, spit?'

LXXVII.

Solomon Grundy, born on a Monday, Christened on Tuesday, married on Wednesday, Took ill on Thursday, worse on Friday, Died on Saturday, buried on Sunday, This is the end of Solomon Grundy.

LXXVIII.

Taffy was a Welshman; Taffy was a thief; Taffy came to my house, And stole a piece of beef. I went to Taffy's house; Taffy wasn't at home; Taffy came to my house, And stole a marrow-bone. I went to Taffy's house; Taffy was in bed; I took up the marrow-bone And flung it at his head!