The undutiful Boy.
Reading edition
Little Harry, come along,
And mamma will sing a song,
All about a naughty lad,
Though a mother kind he had.
He never minded what she said,
But only laugh’d at her instead;
And then did just the same, I’ve heard,
As if she had not said a word.
He would not learn to read his book,
But wisdom’s pleasant way forsook;
With wicked boys he took delight,
And learnt to quarrel and to fight.
And when he saw his mother cry,
And heard her heave a bitter sigh,
To think she’d such a wicked son,
He never cared for what he’d done.
I hope my little Harry will
Mind all I say, and love me still;
For ’tis his mother’s greatest joy,
To think he’s not a wicked boy.