_M._ He heard the bacon sputter on the fork,
And heard his mother's step across the floor.
Where did you get that song?--'tis new to me.

_G._ I bought it of a peddler.

_M._ Did you so?
Well, you were always for the love-songs, George.

_F._ My dear, just lay his head upon your arm.
And if you'll pace and sing two minutes more
He needs must sleep--his eyes are full of sleep.

_G._ Do you sing, mother.

_F._ Ay, good mother, do;
'Tis long since we have heard you.

_M._ Like enough;
I'm an old woman, and the girls and lads
I used to sing to sleep o'ertop me now.
What should I sing for?

_G._ Why, to pleasure us.
Sing in the chimney corner, where you sit,
And I'll pace gently with the little one.

[_Mother sings._]