F

Father, father, I've come to confess.
O, yes, dear daughter, what have you done?

G

Gang and hear the owl yell,
Sit and see the swallow flee,
See the foal before its mither's e'e,
'Twill be a thriving year wi' thee.

H

Hush-a-bye, baby, on the tree-top;
When the wind blows the cradle will rock;
When the wind ceases the cradle will fall,
And down will come baby and cradle and all.

I

I had a little husband
No bigger than my thumb;
I put him in a pint pot,
And there I bade him drum.
I bought a little horse
That galloped up and down;
I bridled him, and saddled him,
And sent him out of town.
I gave him a pair of garters,