Over the Hill and Over the Dale
Over the hill and over the dale, And over the bourn to Dawlish- Where gingerbread wives have a scanty sale And gingerbread nuts are smallish.
Rantipole Betty she ran down a hill And kicked up her petticoats fairly; Says I Iâll be Jack if you will be Gill- So she sat on the grass debonairly.
Hereâs somebody coming, hereâs somebody coming! Says I âtis the wind at a parley; So without any fuss any hawing and humming She lay on the grass debonairly.
Hereâs somebody here and hereâs somebody there! Says I hold your tongue you young Gipsey; So she held her tongue and lay plump and fair And dead as a Venus tipsy.
O who wouldnât hie to Dawlish fair, O who wouldnât stop in a Meadow, O who would not rumple the daisies there And make the wild fern for a bed do!