But fear she won't rouse if I try not to make her;
So as time flies fast I will make bold to shake her."
"Fire! thieves!" cried the dame. "O, Meg, what are you arter?
You wicked, ungrateful, neglectful, young darter!
I was dreaming of dinner—oh, such a fine treat!
Not of biled praties only, but roast and biled meat."
"Hush, hush!" said the Abbot, "I've heard your sad story,
And much I was grieved at, but felt sorry for ye."
"Ay, ay," she exclaimed, "did yer spake of the child?
It's nigh broke my heart, and will soon drive me wild.