Page:Saturday night.pdf/17

 More mellow they grew, and most friendly and warm,

And swore in good fellowship could be no harm.

Then half-naked Patty, the blacksmith's sweet child,

With pale hollow cheeks, came and tenderly smil'd;

And begg'd of her daddy to come make an end,

Of the horse-shoe, for Roger, their very good friend.

The man wants his horse, and he vows he must go

To the new blacksmith's shop, if you make him wait so;

And my weakly sick mother lies crying in bed,

For the price of the horse-shoe, to buy us some bread.

I care not, not I, for the horse or the man,

I'll empty my jug first, I vow, if I can;

Let him shoe him himself, says he, here I shall sit;

So he blunder'd out nonsense, and thought it was wit.

Go, go, tell your mother I'm coming, and so

Is Christimas, my darling, as you and I know;

I'm in; if I stir while I've hat, wig, or coat,

May I bind the next horse-shoe tight round my own throat.

The poor little Patty went sorrowful home,

To tell her sad mother her dad would not come;

The ebbings of life silent sunk from her heart,

And she just blest her babes, 'ere her soul could depart.

The drunkard—the murderer—rather I call,

The sot who can guzzle time, money and all;