THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER.
Whilst you are asleep, the poor little sweep
At the dawning of morning must go,
With brushes and bags, and cloth’d all in rags,
In the winter, thro’ frost and thro’ snow.
We’re oblig’d, I am sure, for what they endure,
To save us from smoke and from fire;
And often I weep to think that the sweep
Must do such sad work for his hire.
Then we’ll keep in mind, that the sweep’s very kind,
For us such a service to do,
And never feel fright when he comes in our sight,
Because of his dark sooty hue.
TUMBLE UP.
Tumble down, tumble up, never mind it, my sweet,
No, no, never beat the poor ground;
’Twas your fault you could not stand straight on your feet,
Fall you will, if you twirl yourself round.