O lady! my mother is aged and poor,
And scarcely can walk to her own cottage-door;
My father is dead, and no other has she
To help and to tend her but poor little me.
No! while mother lives, by her side will I stay,
To watch her by night, and to cheer her by day;
But when mother dies, and in her grave is laid,
Oh, send for me then, for your own little maid.
6. Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog.
Good people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song;
And if you find it wondrous short,
It cannot hold you long.
In Islington there was a man,
Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran
Whene'er he went to pray.
A kind and gentle heart he had
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad
When he put on his clothes.
And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,
And curs of low degree.
