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!