For what her own wits would allow her;
And, making her way through the cask,
She helped herself well to the flour.
The candles she scraped to their wicks;
And, mischievous in her invention,
Would do many more naughty tricks,
Which I, as her friend, cannot mention.
Kit, too, had her living to make,
And yet, she was so above toiling,
She'd sooner attack the beef-steak,