Nursery Rhyme. DCI. Local.

        [The following verses are said by Aubrey to have been sung in his time by the girls of Oxfordshire in a sport called Leap Candle, which is now obsolete.]

    The tailor of Bicester,
        He has but one eye;
    He cannot cut a pair of green galagaskins,
        If he were to try.

Unknown

The identity of this poet is not known. Their works, which are often of significant historical or cultural value, have been attributed to 'Unknown'. This designation is commonly used when the creator of works, ranging from ancient texts to more modern writings, remains anonymous or uncredited. Despite the lack of personal details, the impact and importance of these works endure, offering insight into the eras and cultures from which they originated.

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. DLII. Natural History.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. XI. Historical

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. DCXX. Relics.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. DLIV. Natural History.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

English

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Nursery Rhyme. DCX. Local.

    Little lad, little lad, where wast thou born?
    Far off in Lancashire, under a thorn,
    Where they sup sour milk in a ram's horn.

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. DCIX. Local.

    Cripple Dick upon a stick,
        And Sandy on a sow,
    Riding away to Galloway,
        To buy a pound o' woo.

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. DCVI. Local.

    Little boy, pretty boy, where was you born?
    In Lincolnshire, master: come blow the cow's horn.
    A half-penny pudding, a penny pie,
    A shoulder of mutton, and that love I.

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. DCIV. Local.

    A man went a hunting at Reigate,
    And wished to leap over a high gate;
    Says the owner, "Go round,
    With your gun and your hound,
    For you never shall leap over my gate."

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. DCXXXIV. Relics.

        [A marching air.]

    Darby and Joan were dress'd in black,
    Sword and buckle behind their back;
    Foot for foot, and knee for knee,
    Turn about Darby's company.

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. DCIII. Local.

    At Brill on the Hill,
    The wind blows shrill,
        The cook no meat can dress;
    At Stow in the Wold
    The wind blows cold, -
        I know no more than this.

Unknown