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It fell about the martinmas time,

And a gay time it was then,
When our goodwife got pudding to make,
And she’s boiled them in the pan.

The wind so cold blew south and north

And blew into the floor;
Said our goodman to our goodwife,
“get up and bar the door”

“my hands is in my pocket deep,

Goodman, as you may see;
An’ it should not be barred this hundred years,
It’ll not be barred by me.”

They made a pact between them two,

They made it firm and sure,
That the first word who e’er should speak
Should rise and bar the door.

Then by there came two gentlemen,

At twelve o’clock at night.
And they could neither see house nor hall,
Nor coal or candle-light.

“now whether is this a rich man’s house,

or whether it be a poor?”
But ne’er a word one of them speak,
For barring of the door.

And first they ate the white puddings,

And then they ate the black;
And very angry the goodwife to himself,
Yet ne’er a word she spake.

Then said the one unto the other,

“here, man, take ye my knife;
do you take off the old man’s beard,
and I’ll kiss the goodman’s wife.”
“but there’s no water in the house
and what shall we do then?”
“what ails we use the pudding-broth,
that boils into the pan?”

O up then started our goodman,

An angry man was he;
“will ye kiss my wife before my eye,
and scald me with pudding-broth?”

then up and started our goodwife,

gave three skips on the floor;
“good man, you’ve spoken the foremost words.
Get up and bar the door.”