WELL, don’t cry, my little tiny boy,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain
Amuse yourself, and break some toy,
For the rain it raineth every day.
Alas, for the grass on Papa’s estate,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
He’ll have to buy hay at an awful rate,
For the rain it raineth every day.
Mamma, she can’t go out for a drive,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
How cross she gets about four or five,
For the rain it raineth every day.
If I were you I’d be off to bed,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
Or the damp will give you a cold in the head,
For the rain it raineth every day.
A great while ago this song was done,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
And I, for one, cannot see it’s fun,
But the Dyces and the Colliers can—they say.
_Shirley Brooks._