Her stockings and her shoes to wear
When cold and wintry storms are nigh.
Then Mary has to trudge away,
And gather wood thro' piles of snow,
To keep the little children warm,
When the frost bites and cold winds blow.
Oh, then, as she comes home at night,
Hungry and tired, with cold benumb'd,
How would she jump to find a bowl
Of bread and milk all nicely crumb'd.
But she, dear child, has no such thing;
Of gruel and some Indian cake,
Whether she chooses it or not,
Poor Mary must her supper make.
And now, my child, will you behave
So ill again another day,
Be cross, and pout, and cry for cake,
And throw your breakfast all away?
ELIZA.
Oh never, never, dear mamma,
I'm sorry that I gave you pain;
Forgive me, and I never will
Be such a naughty girl again.
