Give her another to match the other,
And then she may walk in two.

Here am I, little jumping Joan;
When nobody's with me,
I am always alone.

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.

The man in the moon came tumbling down,
And asked his way to Norwich,
He went by the south, and burnt his mouth
With supping cold pease-porridge.

The North Wind doth blow,
And we shall have snow,
And what will poor Robin do then?
He will hop to a barn,
And to keep himself warm
Will hide his head under his wint,
Poor thing.

(Coals)
Black we are, but much admired;
Men seek for us till they are tired.
We tire the horse, but comfort the man;