Old King Cole, was a merry old soul, and a merry old soul was he. He called for his food, and he called for his drink, and he called for his fiddlers three!     

And every fiddler, he had a fine fiddle, and a very fine fiddle had he. “Twee, tweedle dee, tweedle dee,” went the fiddlers.     

Oh, there’s none so rare, as can compare, with King Cole and his fiddlers three.    



I have seen you, little mouse, running all about the house. Through the hole your little eye, in the wood work peeping sly. Hoping soon some crumbs to steal, to make for quite a hearty meal.  

Look before you come on out. See if kitty is about. If she’s gone, you’ll quickly run, to the kitchen for some fun. Round about the dishes creep, taking into each a peep, to choose the better crumbs to eat, spoiling things that touch your feet.