A Pocketful of of Rye;



Four-and-Twenty Blackbirds Baked
in in a Pie.



When the Pie was opened, The Birds began to sing;
Was not that
a da dainty Dish
To set before the King?



The King was in
his counting-house,
Counting out his Money.





The Queen was in
the Parlour,
Eating Bread and Honey.


 
The Maid was in
the Garden,
Hanging out the Clothes;



There came a little Blackbird,
And snapped off her Nose.
But there came a  Jenny Wren
and and popped it on again.