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 her 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 off the sky!
May I go with you?
Aye, by and by.