(Good night, my dear Miss Mundy),
I slept on bed as clean and sweet
As lass that goes so trim and neat
With her lover to church on Sunday.
But why should I go on to sin,
Spinning bad rhymes to the good Old Inn
While the bell is tolling on Sunday?
I'll go and hear short sermon there,
Tho' the best of sermons, I declare,
Is the face of Miss Mary Mundy!