  Mary, raise that sleepy head, For the lark doth carol high, And the sun has left his bed— Mary, ope that sleepy eye. Come, and let me wash you clean, Brush your hair and tie your frock; There's your sister Geraldine, Waiting at the mossy rock.
Hark! the little chicken's cries, Loudly call for Mary's care, But if the sluggard will not rise, George their breakfast shall prepare. Who shall get the fresh-laid egg, To place beside her father's cup? Who shall pour the tea, I beg, If my Mary is not up? |
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