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-he's all awake-
Again?-on tip-toe down the hill
He softly creeps-'tis Goody Blake;
She's 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 fill'd her apron full.
When with her load she turned about,
The by-way back again to take;
He started forward with a shout,
And sprang upon poor Goody Blake.
And fiercely by the arm he took her,
And by the arm he held her fast,
And fiercely by the arm he shook her,
And cried, 'I've caught you then at last!"
Then Goody who had nothing said,
Her bundle from her lap let fall,
And kneeling on the sticks she prayed
To God that is the judge of all.
She prayed, her withered hand uprearing,
While Harry held her by the arm—
'God, who art never out of hearing,
O may he never more be warm!'
The cold, cold moon above her head,
Thus on her knees did Goody pray;
Young Harry heard what she had said,
And icy cold he turned away.
e went complaining all the morrow at he was cold and very chill:
is face was gloom, his heart was sorrow,
as! that day for Harry Gill!
mat day he wore a riding coat,
at not a whit the warmer he:
other was on Thursday bought;
d ere the Sabbath he had three.
was all in vain, a useless matter,
d blankets were about him pinned;
t still his jaws and teeth they chatter,
ke a loose casement in the wind.
d Harry's flesh it fell away;
d all who see him say 'tis plain,
at live as long as live he may,
= never will be warm again.
And a-begging we will go,
Will go, will go,
And a-begging we will go.
A bag for his oatmeal,
Another for his salt,
And a long pair of crutches,
To show that he can halt.
And a-begging we will go,
Will go, will go,
And a-begging we will go.
A bag for his wheat,
Another for his rye,
And a little bottle by his side,
To drink when he's a-dry.
And a-begging we will go,
Will go, will go,
And a-begging we will go.
Seven years I begg'd
For my old master Wilde,
He taught me how to beg
When I was but a child.
And a-begging we will go,
Will go, will go,
And a-begging we will go.
I begg'd for my master,
And got him store of pelf, But goodness now be praised,
I'm begging for myself. And a-begging we will go,
Will go, will go, And a-begging we will go.
And they should have food for the winter there.
Of women and children, and young and old.
Then when he saw it could hold no more,
Bishop Hatto he made fast the door ;
And while for mercy on Christ they call,
He set fire to the barn and burnt them all.
'I' faith, 'tis an excellent bonfire!' quoth he,
'And the country is greatly obliged to me,
For ridding it in these times forlorn
Of rats, that only consume the corn.'
So then to his palace returned he,
And he sat down to supper merrily,
And he slept that night like an innocent man
But Bishop Hatto never slept again.
In the morning as he enter'd the hall,
Where his picture hung against the wall,
A sweat like death all over him came,
For the rats had eaten it out of the frame.
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