Page:A Book of Nursery Rhymes.djvu/87

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The Knave of Hearts, he stole the tarts,
   And took them clean away.

The King of Hearts called for the tarts,
   And beat the Knave full sore;
The Knave of Hearts brought back the
And vowed he'd steal no more.

   The man in the moon
   Came down too soon,
And asked his way to Norwich:
   He went by the south,
   And burnt his mouth
With supping cold pease-porridge.

   I'll sing you a song,
   Though not very long,
Yet I think it as pretty as any;
   Put your hand in your purse,
   You'll never be worse,
And give the poor singer a penny.