My mother told me, all the same,
Thou wast my godmother, and so
I love thee in my weal and woe.
O'ercome by cruel destiny,
Poor Binks and Chinks in dungeons lie,
And our bad king—a grievous sin—
Hath likewise put their daughters in.
Dear godmother! 'twere sad, you know,
My father should to prison go;
But sadder still (you'll hardly fail