There was an old woman tossed up in a basket
Seventeen times as high as the moon;
Where she was going I couldn't but ask it,
For in the hand she carried a broom.
''Old woman, old woman, old woman,'' quoth I,
''Where are you going to up so high?''
''To brush the cobwebs of the sky!''
'' May I go with thee?''
'' Aye, by-and-by.''