The Old Woman Tossed Up in a Blanket

The Old Woman of Norwich

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There was an old woman and what do you think?
She lived upon nothing but victuals and drink;
Victuals and drink were the chief of her diet,
Yet this plaguey old woman could never be quiet.

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There was an old woman tossed up in a blanket,
Seventeen times as high as the moon;
Where she was going I could not but ask it,
For in her hand she carried a broom.
“Old woman, old woman, old woman,” quoth I;
“O whither, O whither, O whither so high?”
“To sweep the cobwebs from the sky,
And I’ll be with you by-and-by!”