There was an old woman,
tossed up in a basket,
Seventeen times as high
As the moon.

And 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.
Whither, oh whither,
Oh whither so high?

To sweep the cobwebs
from the sky.
May I go with thee?
Aye, bye and bye.