In March, December, and in July,
'Tis all the fame with Harry Gill;
The neighbours tell, and tell you truly,
His teeth they chatter, chatter still.
At night, at morning, and at noon,
'Tis all the fame with Harry Gill;
Beneath the fun, beneath the moon,
His teeth they chatter, chatter ftill.

Young Harry was a lufty drover,
And who fo ftout of limb as he?
His cheeks were red as ruddy clover,
His voice was like the voice of three.
Auld Goody Blake was old and poor,
Ill fed she was, and thinly clad;
And any man who pafs'd her door,
Might fee how poor a hut she had.

All day fhe fpun in her poor dwelling,
And then her three hours' work at night!
Alas! 'twas hardly worth the telling,
It would not pay for candle-light.

-This woman dwelt in Dorfetshire,
Her hut was on a cold hill-fide,
And in that country coals are dear,
For they come far by wind and tide.

By the fame fire to boil their pottage,
Two poor old dames, as I have known,
Will often live in one fmall cottage,
But she, poor woman, dwelt alone.
'Twas well enough when fummer came,
The long, warm, lightsome summer-day,
Then at her door the canty dame
Would fit, as any linnet gay.

But when the ice our ftreams did fetter,
Oh! then how her old bones would fhake!
You would have faid, if you had met her,
'Twas a hard time for Goody Blake.
Her evenings then were dull and dead;
Sad cafe it was, as you may think,
For very cold to go to bed,

And then for cold not fleep a wink.

Oh joy for her! when e'er in winter
The winds at night had made a rout,

And scatter'd many a lufty splinter,
And many a rotten bough about.
Yet never had fhe, well or fick,
As every man who knew her says,
A pile before-hand, wood or stick,
Enough to warm her for three days.

Now, when the froft was paft enduring,
And made her poor old bones to ache,
Could any thing be more alluring,
Then an old hedge to Goody Blake?
And now and then, it must be faid,
When her old bones were cold and chill,
She left her fire, or left her bed,
To feek the hedge of Harry Gill.

Now Harry he had long suspected
This trespass of old Goody Blake,
And vow'd that fhe fhould be detected,
And he on her would vengeance take.
And oft from his warm fire he'd go,
And to the fields his road would take,
And there, at night, in frost and fnow,
He watch'd to feize old Goody Blake.

And once, behind a rick of barley,
Thus looking out did Harry stand;
The moon was full and fhining clearly,
And crifp with froft the ftubble-land.
-He hears a noife-he's all awake-
Again?-on tip-toe down the hill
He foftly creeps-'Tis Goody Blake,
She's at the hedge of Harry Gill.

Right glad was he when he beheld her,
Stick after stick did Goody pull,
He stood behind a bufh of elder,
Till fhe had fill'd her apron full.
When with her load fhe turn'd about,
The bye-road back again to take,
He started forward with a fhout,
And sprang upon poor Goody Blake.

And fiercely by the arm he took her,
And by the arm he held her fast,
And fiercely by the arm he shook her,
And cry'd, "I've caught you then at last !"
Then Goody, who had nothing faid,
Her bundle from her lap let fall;

And kneeling on the flicks, fhe pray'd
To God that is the judge of all.

She pray'd, her wither'd hand uprearing,.
While Harry held her by the arın-
"God! who art never out of hearing,
"O may he never more be warm!"
The cold, cold moon above her head,
Thus on her knees did Goody pray,
Young Harry heard what fhe had faid,
And icy-cold he turn'd away.

He went complaining all the morrow
That he was cold and very chill:

His face was gloom, his heart was forrow,

Alas! that day for Harry Gill!

That day he wore a riding-coat,
But not a whit the warmer he:
Another was on Thursday brought,.
And ere the fabbath he had three.

'Twas all in vain, a useless matter,
And blankets were about him pinn'd;
Yet ftill his jaws and teeth they clatter,
Like a loose casement in the wind.