Hawthorn White, Hawthorn red, hanging in the Garden, at My head, tell Me simple, tell Me true, when comes the Winter, what must I do? I have a House, with Chimneys Four, I have a Silver Bell on the Door, a Single Hearth, and a single Bed, Not enough, the Hawthorn said. I have a Lute, I have a Lyre, I have a Yellow Cat by My Fire, A Nighttingale , to my Tree, is tied, that Bird looks sick, The Hawthorn sighed. I write on Paper, pure as Milk, I lie on Sheets, of Shantung Silk, on My Green Breast, no Sin has Snowed, You'll catch your Death, the Hawthorn crowed. My Purse is packed with a five Pound Note, The Watch Dogs in My Garden gloat. I blow The Bagpipe down My Side, Better blow your safe, The Hawthorn cried, My Purse is steady, as My Clock, My Wits are wise, as the Weather Cock, Twice a Year, We are overhauled, It's double Summertime, The Hawthorn called. I have A Horse with Wings for Feet, I have Chicken each Day to eat, When I was born, The Church Bells rang, Only one at a time, The Hawthorn sang.