THE IDIOT BOY.
Tis eight oclock,--a clear Maright,
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?
Beh the moon that shines sht,
Till she is tired, let Betty Foy
With girt and stirrup ?ddle-faddle;
But wherefore set upon a saddle
Him whom she loves, her idiot boy?
Theres scarce a soul thats 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;
Theres not a mother, no not one,
But when she hears what you have done,
Oh! Betty shell be in a fright.
But Bettys bent on her i,
For her good neighbour, Susan Gale,
Old S……（内容加载失败！）
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