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 a 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!