Thou good-for-nothing and cross little thing?
Scolding myself, I spring up from my chair,
Calling out loud that the time is not long;
March down the room with a resolute air,
Seize my guitar, and burst out into song!
Poor little girl, sitting singing alone,
Pretty guitar round a slender neck hung,
Smiles on thy lips, but a sad little moan,
Deep in a heart that is foolish and young.