An’ Biddy her clothes dried in half o’ the time;
Fur to help me to pay for our vittals an’ food,
The poor girl by washing earned many a dime,
An’ she kept things so tidy, complaicint an’ sweet,
I nivir drudgid climin’ that hill o’ a street.
Thin I wint to the mines for six months it may be,
An’ wid goold in my pockit I hurried me back;
Whin I got to the hill, nary hill could I see;
’Twas gone, an’ some lumber obstructed my track—
I saw in an instant my ruin complete—