My dame has lost her shoe;
My master 's lost his fiddle-stick.
And don't know what to do.
What is my dame to do?
Till master finds his fiddle-stick,
She 'll dance without her shoe.
My dame has found her shoe,
And master's found his fiddle-stick,
Sing cock a doodle do!
Cock a doodle do!
My dame will dance with you,
While master fiddles his fiddle-stick,
And knows not what to do.
Oh, my pretty cock! Oh, my handsome cock!
I pray you, do not crow before day,
And your comb shall be made of the very beaten gold,
And your wings of the siver so gray.