I would run all the wide world over to find him, if I only know’d where to run,
Little Murphy, now I remember, was once lost for a month through stealing a penny bun,—
The Lord forbid of any child of mine! I think it would kill me raily,
To find my Bill holdin’ up his little innocent hand at the Old Bailey.
For though I say it as oughtn’t, yet I will say, you may search for miles and mileses
And not find one better brought up, and more pretty behaved, from one end to t’other of St. Giles’s.
And if I called him a beauty, it’s no lie, but only as a Mother ought to speak;
You never set eyes on a more handsomer face, only it hasn’t been washed for a week;
As for hair, tho’ its red, its the most nicest hair when I’ve time to just show it the comb;
I’ll owe ’em five pounds, and a blessing besides, as will only bring him safe and sound home.