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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,
