Oranges and lemons, says the bells of St. Clemen's;
You owe me five farthings, says the bells of St. Martin's;
When will you pay me, says the bells of Old Bailey;
When I grow rich, says the bells of Shoreditch;
When will that be? says the bells of Stepney;
I do not know, says the great bell of Bow.

Here comes a candle to light you to bed,
And here comes a chopper to chop off your head.