Little boy, pretty boy, where was you born?

Little boy, pretty boy, where was you born?
In Lincolnshire, master: come blow the cow's horn.
A half-penny pudding, a penny pie,
A shoulder of mutton, and that love I.

My father and mother,
My uncle and aunt,
Be all gone to Norton,
But little Jack and I.

A little bit of powdered beef,
And a great net of cabbage,
The best meal I have had to-day,
Is a good bowl of porridge.