Thimble's scolding wife lay dead, Heigho! says Thimble, My dearest duck's defunct in bed; Death has cabbaged her, oh! she's fled! With her roley, poley, gammon and spinnage, Heigho! says Thimble. Thimble buried his wife that night, Heigho! says Thimble ; I grieve to sew up my heart's delight, With her diamond ring on her finger tight, And her roley, poley, gammon and spinnage, Heigho! says Thimble. To saw off her finger, and steal the ring. Soon came the sexton; She sat up an end, and she gave a fling, Crying, d—e, you dog, you steal no such thing, With your roley, poley, gammon and spinnage, Heigho! says Thimble. And off ran the sexton. She stalked to her home, and she made a din, Heigho! cries Thimble; Then popp'd out his head, and said, with a grin, You are dead, dearest duck, and I can't let you in, With your roley, poley, gammon and spinnage, Heigho! says Thimble.