Mirror, Mirror, tell me,
Am I pretty or plain?
Or am I downright ugly
And ugly to remain?
Shall I marry a gentleman?
Shall I marry a clown?
Or shall I marry old Knives and Scissors
Shouting through the town?
Woe’s me, woe’s me,
The acorn’s not yet
Fallen from the tree
That’s to grow the wood,
That’s to make the candle,
That’s to rock the bairn,
That’s to grow a man,
That’s to lay me.