A New Version.

"Sing a song of sixpence, you fellow full of rye,
With not a cent to bury you to-morrow, should you die;
The keepers in the bar-room, counting out his money,
His wife is in the parlour, with well-dressed sis' and sonuy;
Your wife has gone out working, and wash peoples' clothes,
To pay for old rye whisky to colour your red nose.