 | Poems (1865) |  |
VII. LAW AND JUSTICE.
Now, this is Mary Queen of Scots!
Push all her curls away;
For we have heard about her plots,
And she must die to-day.
Push all her curls away;
For we have heard about her plots,
And she must die to-day.
What's this? I must not hurt her so;
You love her dearly still;
You think she will be good—Oh no!
I say she never will.
You love her dearly still;
You think she will be good—Oh no!
I say she never will.
My own new saw, and made of steel!
Oh silly child to cry;
She's only wood; she cannot feel;
And, look, her eyes are dry.
Oh silly child to cry;
She's only wood; she cannot feel;
And, look, her eyes are dry.
Her cheeks are bright with rosy spots;
I know she cares for none—
Besides, she's Mary Queen of Scots,
And so it must be done.
I know she cares for none—
Besides, she's Mary Queen of Scots,
And so it must be done.
Jean Ingelow.
| Poems (1865) | |