thrive.
Nay, I'll not give my fiddle
  To any man alive.

If I should give you my fiddle,
  They'll think that I'm gone mad,
For many a joyful day
  My fiddle and I have had.

There was a Piper had a Cow,
  And he had naught to give her,
He pull'd out his pipes and play'd her a tune,
  And bade the cow consider.

    The cow considered very well,
      And gave the piper a penny,
    And bade him play the other tune,
      "Corn rigs are bonny."

Away, pretty robin, fly home to your nest,
To make you my captive I still should like best,
  And feed you with worms and with bread:
Your eyes are so sparkling, your feathers so soft,
Your little wings flutter so pretty aloft,
  And your breast is all cover'd with red.