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 I’ll be Jack if you will be Gill — So she sat on the grass debonairly. Here’s somebody coming, here’s somebody coming! Says I ’tis the wind at a parley; So without any fuss any hawing and humming She lay on the grass debonairly. Here’s somebody here and here’s 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 wouldn’t hie to Dawlish fair, O who wouldn’t stop in a Meadow, O who would not rumple the daisies there And make the wild fern for a bed do!
Teignmouth, Spring 1818.
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