 | Poetic trifles |  |
12
The undutiful Boy.
Little Harry, come along,
And mamma will sing a song,
All about a naughty lad,
Tho' a mother kind he had.
And mamma will sing a song,
All about a naughty lad,
Tho' a mother kind he had.
He never minded what she said,
But only laugh'd at her instead;
And then did just the same, I've heard,
As if she had not said a word.
But only laugh'd at her instead;
And then did just the same, I've heard,
As if she had not said a word.
He would not learn to read his book,
But wisdom's pleasant way forsook,
With wicked boys he took delight,
And learnt to quarrel and to fight.
But wisdom's pleasant way forsook,
With wicked boys he took delight,
And learnt to quarrel and to fight.
13
And when he saw his mother cry,
And heard her heave a bitter sigh,
To think she'd such a wicked son,
He never car'd for what he done!
And heard her heave a bitter sigh,
To think she'd such a wicked son,
He never car'd for what he done!
I hope my little Harry will
Mind all I say, and love me still;
For 'tis his mother's greatest joy,
To think he's not a wicked boy.
Mind all I say, and love me still;
For 'tis his mother's greatest joy,
To think he's not a wicked boy.
| Poetic trifles | |