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 rolypoly, gammon, and spinach,
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 rolypoly,” &c.

To saw off her finger and steal the ring
Soon came the sexton;
She sat up on end and she gave a fling,
Crying, Damme, you dog, you steal no such thing!
With your rolypoly, &c.,
And off run the sexton.

She stalked to her home, and she made a din;
“Heigho!” cried Thimble;
Then popped out his head, and said with a grin,
“You are dead, dearest duck! and I can't let you in,
With your rolypoly,” &c.