GOODY BLAKE, AND HARRY GILL, A TRUE STORY.
Oh! whats the matter? whats the matter?
What ist that ails young Harry Gill?
That evermore his teeth they chatter,
Chatter, chatter, chatter still.
Of waistcoats Harry has no lack,
Good duf?e grey, and ?annel ?ne;
He has a bla on his back,
And coats enough to smother nine.
In March, December, and in July,
"Tis all the same with Harry Gill;
The neighbours tell, and tell you truly,
His teeth they chatter, chatter still.
At night, at m, and at noon,
Tis all the same with Harry Gill;
Beh the suh the moon,
His teeth they chatter, chatter still.
Young Harry was a lusty drover,
And who so stout of limb as he?
His cheeks were red as ruddy clover,
His voice was like the voice of three.
Auld Goody Blake was old and poor,
Ill fedd she was, and thinly clad;
And any man who passd her door,
Might see how poor a hut she had.
All day she spun in her poor dwelling,
And thehree hours work at night!
Alas! twas hardly worth the telling,
It would not pay for dle-light.
--This woma in Dorsetshire,
Her hut was on a cold hill-side,
And in that try coals are dear,
For they e far by wind and tide.
By the same ?re to boil their pottage,
Two poor old dames, as I have known,
Will often live in one small cottage,
But she, poor woman, dwelt alone.
Twas well enough when summer came,
The long, warm, lightsome summer-day,
Then at her door the _ty_ dame
Would sit, as any li gay.
But when the ice our streams did fetter,
Oh! then how her old bones would shake!
You would have said, if you had met her,
Twas a hard time foody Blake.
Her evenings then were dull and dead;
Sad case it was, as you may think,
For very cold to go to bed,
And then for cold not sleep a wink.
Oh joy for her! when eer in winter
The winds at night had made a rout,
And scatterd many a lusty splinter,
And many a rotten bough about.
Yet never had she, well or sick,
As every man who knew her says,
A pile before-hand, wood or stick,
Enough to warm her for three days.
Now, when the frost ast enduring,
And made her poor old boo ache,
Could any thing be more alluring,
Than an old hedge to Goody Blake?
And now and then, it must be said,
When her old bones were cold and chill,
She left her ?re, or left her bed,
To seek the hedge of Harry Gill.
Now Harry he had long suspected
This trespass of old Goody Blake,
And vowd that she should be detected,
And he on her would vengeaake.
And oft from his warm ?re hed go,
And to the ?elds his road would take,
And there, at night, in frost and snow,
He watchd to seize old Goody Blake.
And once, behind a rick of barley,
Thus looking out did Harry stand;
The moon was full and shining clearly,
And crisp with frost the stubble-land.
--He hears a noise--hes all awake--
Again?--on tip-toe down the hill
He softly creeps--Tis Goody Blake,
Shes at the hedge of Harry Gill.
Right glad was he when he beheld her:
Stick after stick did Goody pull,
He stood behind a bush of elder,
Till she had ?lled her apron full.
When with her load she turned