There Was An Old Man

There was an old man who lived in a wood
As you may plainly see;
He said he could do as much work in a day
As his wife could do in three.

“With all my heart,” the old woman said;
“If that you will allow,
Tomorrow you’ll stay at home in my stead,
And I’ll go drive the plow.

But you must milk the Tidy cow,
For fear that she go dry;

And you must feed the little pigs
That are within the sty;

And you must mind the speckled hen,
For fear she lay away;
And you must reel the spool of yarn
That I spun yesterday.”

“High, Tidy, Ho, Tidy, High,
Tidy, do stand still.
If ever I milk you, Tidy, again,
“Twill be sore against my will.”

He went to feed the little pigs
That were within the sty;
The pig had other thoughts it seems,
And he was made to cry.

He went to mind the speckled hen,
For fear she’d lay astray,
And he forgot the spool of yarn
His wife spun yesterday.

So he swore by the sun,
The moon and the stars,
And the green leaves on the tree,
If his wife didn’t do a day’s work in her life.
It should never be said by he.

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