And to my sister Betty fair, and to her white as bone,
And bid her keep her maidenhead, be sure to make much on’t,
For if e’er she come in man’s bed, the same gate will she gang.
Away this little boy is gone as fast as he could run,
When he came where brigs were broke, he lay down and ‘swum.’
When he saw the lady, he said, Lord may your keeper be!
What news, my pretty boy, ‘hast’ thou to tell to me?
Your daughter ‘Mabel’ orders me, as you sit in a chair of stone,
To ask you how you like the news of seven to have but one;
Your daughter gives commands as you sit in a chair of ‘state,’