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Black Sheep, Have you any wool? Yes, marry, have I, Three bags full: One for my master, One for my dame, And one for the little boy That lives in the lane!
A Clip Job There’s no escaping them. Taxes are as inevitable as death and a bad haircut before your big date. Despite its bouncy tone, this rhyme is a lament about the burden of paying taxes. In the Middle Ages, a hard-working peasant was required to give one third of his income to the King, “my master,” and one third to the fat nobility, “my dame,” leaving only a final third for himself, “the little boy.” This rhyme was his sing-along 1040 tax form. So next April 15th, remember that even long ago, taxes made people feel fleeced. |
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 On August 14, 2009, Mike Dixon wrote: I think that the dame in the nursery rhyme refers to the church, not the fat nobility.
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