He cried aloud with eyes of pity,
‘Mother, dear, don’t murder me,’
She heeded not his prattling tongue,
But like a demon fierce and wild,
‘My dear,’ said she, ‘it must be done,’
And thus she slew her other child.
From bed to bed, and to each chamber,
This wretched woman she did go,
While all around her own dear children,
Streams of crimson blood did flow.