Traitress to ask such a question! for shame!

Thou art, thou knowest, beginning and end!

His whole life is thine—he is not to blame!

May not thy husband go out with a friend?

Thou art the false one, and he is the true—

Fretful and idle, unworthy thy king!

Hast thou not anything useful to do,

Thou good-for-nothing and cross little thing?

Scolding myself, I spring up from my chair,

Calling out loud that the time is not long;

March down the room with a resolute air,

Seize my guitar, and burst out into song!

Poor little girl, sitting singing alone,

Pretty guitar round a slender neck hung,

Smiles on thy lips, but a sad little moan,

Deep in a heart that is foolish and young.