XIV
The Culprit
The Culprit
The night my father got me
His mind was not on me;
He did not plague his fancy
To muse if I should be
The son you see.
His mind was not on me;
He did not plague his fancy
To muse if I should be
The son you see.
The day my mother bore me
She was a fool and glad,
For all the pain I cost her,
That she had borne the lad
That borne she had.
She was a fool and glad,
For all the pain I cost her,
That she had borne the lad
That borne she had.
My mother and my father
Out of the light they lie;
The warrant would not find them,
And here 'tis only I
Shall hang so high.
Out of the light they lie;
The warrant would not find them,
And here 'tis only I
Shall hang so high.
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