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Oh! smile on me, my little lamb!
For I thy own dear mother am.

My love for thee has well been tried :
I've sought thy father far and wide.
I know the poisons of the shade,
I know the earth-nuts fit for food;
Then, pretty dear, be not afraid;
We'll find thy father in the wood.

Now laugh and be gay, to the woods away!

And there, my babe; we'll live for aye.

THE

IDIOT BOY.

THE

IDIOT BOY.

'Tis eight o'clock,-a clear March night,

The moon is up-the sky is blue,

The owlet in the moonlight air,

He shouts from nobody knows where ; He lengthens out his lonely shout, Halloo! halloo! a long halloo !

-Why bustle thus about your door,
What means this bustle, Betty Foy?
Why are you in this mighty fret ?

And why on horseback have you set
Him whom
you love, your idiot boy?

Beneath the moon that shines so bright,

Till she is tired, let Betty Foy
With girt and stirrup fiddle-faddle;
But wherefore set upon a saddle
Him whom she loves, her idiot boy?

There's scarce a soul that's out of bed;
Good Betty! put him down again;
His lips with joy they burr at you,
But, Betty! what has he to do
With stirrup, saddle, or with rein ?

The world will say 'tis very idle,
Bethink you of the time of night;
There's not a mother, no not one,

have done,

But when she hears what you
Oh! Betty she'll be in a fright.

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