You may give over plough, boys, TOMMY'S DEAD. 'Tis cropped out, I trow, boys ; And Tommy's dead. Send the colt to the fair, boys: He's going blind, as I said; My old eyes can't bear, boys, The cow's dry and spare, boys; Stop the mill to-morn, boys; There'll be no more corn, boys, Neither white nor red. There's no sign of grass, boys; You may sell the goat and the ass, boys; The land's not what it was, boys; And the beasts must be fed. You may turn Peg away, boys ; You may pay off old Ned. We've had a dull day, boys; And Tommy's dead. Move my chair on the floor, boys: Let me turn my head; She's standing there in the door, boys: Your sister Winifred! Take her away from me, boys, Your sister Winifred! (Move me round in my place, boys, Let me turn my head ;) Take her away from me, boys, TOMMY'S DEAD. As she lay on her death-bed: But I see her looking at me, boys, And the lily as pale as she, boys, There's something not right, boys, Outside and in The ground is cold to my tread; Wherever I turn my head, TOMMY'S DEAD. There's a mildew and a mould; The sun's going out over head, And Tommy's dead. What am I staying for, boys? And she's gone before, boys; She was always sweet, boys, She knew she'd never see't, boys, And she stole off to bed; I've been sitting up alone, boys, For he'd come home, he said; Put the shutters up, boys; Bring out the beer and bread; Make haste and sup, boys, For my eyes are heavy as lead; There's something wrong i' the cup, boys, There's something ill wi' the bread; I don't care to sup, boys; And Tommy's dead. I'm not right, I doubt, boys, I've such a sleepy head; LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW. I shall never more be stout, boys; The prayers are all said, The stairs are too steep, boys, The night's dark and deep, boys, I'm not used to kiss, boys; You may shake my hand instead. All things go amiss, boys; You may lay me where she is, boys, And I'll rest my old head. 'Tis a poor world, this, boys; And Tommy's dead. SYDNEY DOBELL. LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW. My love he built me a bonny bower, |