’Tis thy voice, my once dear-mother-
In-law, which doth me rile,
When you speak the house doth tremble,
So roof-lifting is your style.
Though thy voice may lose its gruffness,
And thine eye its pot-black hue;
And thy lengthy step its longness,
And thy hair its redness too;
Still to me thou’lt be more frightful,
Than I shall ever own;