Page:Poems - Southey (1799) volume 2.djvu/235

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FATHER.What can we fear?Who lamed the Miller's boy? who rais'd the windThat blew my old barn's roof down? who d'ye thinkRides my poor horse a'nights? who mocks the hounds?But let me catch her at that trick again,And I've a silver bullet ready for her,One that shall lame her, double how she will.NATHANIEL.What makes her sit there moping by herself,With no soul near her but that great black cat?And do but look at her!CURATE.Poor wretch! half blindAnd crooked with her years, without a childOr friend in her old age, 'tis hard indeedTo have her very miseries made her crimes!I met her but last week in that hard frostThat made my young limbs ache, and when I ask'dWhat brought her out in the snow, the poor old woman
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