Blow, wind, blow; and go, mill, go, That the miller may grind his corn; That the baker may take it, And into rolls make it And send us some hot in the morn.

Pat-a-cake, Baker’s man. Bake me a cake as fast as you can; Roll it and pat it and mark it with a B, And put it in the oven for baby and me.

Baa, baa, black sheep, Have you any wool? Yes, sir, yes, sir, Three bags full. One for my master, and one for my dame, And one for the little boy who lives down the lane.

Down in a cottage lives Weaver John, And a happy old John is he. Maud is the name of his dear old dame, And a blessed old dame is she. Whickity, whickity, click and clack, How the shuttles do dance and sing. Here they go, there they go, forth and back, And a whackity song they sing.