«Oranges and lemons,»

Say the bells of St. Clemet’s.

«You owe me five farthings,»

Say the bells of St. Martin’s.

«When will you pay me?»

Say the bells of Old Bailey.

«When I grow rich,»

Say the bells of Shoreditch.

«When will that be?»

Say the bells of Stepney.

«I do not know,»

Say the great bells of Bow.

«Here comes a candle

to light you to bed,

Here comes a chopper

to chop off your head,

Chip-chop, chip-chop –

The last man’s dead.»