Over The Hill And Over The Dale, And Over The Bourn To Dawlish, Where Gingerbread Wives Have A Scanty Sale And Gingerbread Nuts Are Smallish. Rantipole Betty She Ran Down A Hill And Kicked Up Her Petticoats Fairly; Says I I'll Be Jack If You Will Be Gill, So She Sat On The Grass Debonairly. Here'S Somebody Coming, Here'S Somebody Coming! Says I 'Tis The Wind At A Parley; So Without Any Fuss Any Hawing And Humming She Lay On The Grass Debonairly. Here'S Somebody Here And Here'S Somebody There! Says I Hold Your Tongue You Young Gipsey; So She Held Her Tongue And Lay Plump And Fair And Dead As A Venus Tipsy. O Who Wouldn't Hie To Dawlish Fair, O Who Wouldn't Stop In A Meadow, O Who Would Not Rumple The Daisies There And Make The Wild Fern For A Bed Do!