No:--she was mild as April morn,
And Andrew loved her too;
She rose at daybreak, though forlorn,
To try what love could do.

And as her waking husband groan'd,
And roll'd his burning head,
She spoke with all the power of truth,
Down kneeling by his bed.

"Dear Andrew, hear me,--though distress'd
"Almost too much to speak,--
"This infant starves upon my breast--
"To scold I am too weak.

"I work, I spin, I toil all day,
"Then leave my work to cry,
"And start with horror when I think
"You wish to see me die.

"But _do_ you wish it? can that bring
"More comfort, or more joy?
"Look round the house, how destitute!
"Look at your ragged boy!

"That boy should make a father proud,
"If any feeling can;
"Then save your children, save your wife,
"Your honour as a man.