Over the hill and over the dale,
And over the bourn to Dawlish --
Where Gingerbread Wives have a scanty sale,
And gingerbread huts 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 debonnairly.

Here's somebody coming, here's somebody coming!
Says I 'tis the wind at parley
So without any fuss and hawing and humming
She lay on the grass debonnairly.

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]1 to Dawlish fair
O who wouldn't stop in a Meadow,
[O who would not]2 rumple the daisies there
And make the wild [fern]3 for a bed do!