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N OW come young men and list to me, A sad and mournful history; And may you ne'er forgetful be Of what I tell this day to thee.
Oh, I was thoughtless, young, and gay And often broke the Sabbath day, In wickedness I took delight And sometimes done what wasn't right.
I'd scarcely passed my fifteenth year, My mother and my father dear Were silent in their deep, dark grave, Their spirits gone to Him who gave.
'Twas on a pleasant summer day When from my home I ran away And took unto myself a wife, Which step was fatal to my life.
Oh, she was kind and good to me
As ever woman ought to be,
And might this day have been alive no doubt,
Had I not met Miss Hatty Stout.
Ah, well I mind the fatal day When Hatty stole my heart away; 164