Melody -
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Rowsty dowt, My fire is out, My little maid's not home! I'll saddle my cock, And bridle my hen, And fetch my little maid home. |
Home she came, tritty trot, She asked for the porridge she left in the pot; Some she ate, and some she shod, And some she gave to the truckler's dog; She took up the ladle and knocked its head, And now poor Dapsy dog is dead. |
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