The Chimney-Sweeper's Complaint -- Mary Alcock

 The Chimney-Sweeper’s Complaint – Mary Alcock

 

A Chimney-sweeper’s boy am I;

Pity my wretched fate!

Ah, turn your eyes; ’twould[mp1]  draw a tear,

Knew you my helpless state.

 

Far from my home, no parents I

Am ever doomed[mp2]  to see;

My master, should I sue to [mp3] him,

He’d flog the skin from me.

 

Ah, dearest madam, dearest sir,

Have pity on my youth;

Though black, covered o’ver with rags,

I tell you naught[mp4]  but truth.

 

Me feeble limbs, benumbed with cold,

Totter[mp5]  beneath the sack,

Which, ’ere [mp6] the morning dawn appears

Is loaded on my back.

 

My legs you see are burnt and bruised,

My feet are galled[mp7]  by stones,

My flesh for lack of food is gone,

I’m little else but bones.

 

Yet still my master makes me work,

Nor spares me day or night;

His ’prentice[mp8]  boy he says I am,

And he will have his right.

 

‘Up to the highest top,’ he cries,

‘There call out Chimney-sweep!’

With panting heart and weeping eyes,

Trembling I upwards creep.

 

But stop! No more – I see him come;

Kind sir, remember me!

Oh, could I hide me underground,

How thankful should I be!

 

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 [mp1]it would

 [mp2]destined

 [mp3]appeal to

 [mp4]nothing

 [mp5]walk in a shaky way that looks as if you are about to fall

 [mp6]before

 [mp7]injured, hurt 

 [mp8]apprentice (agree to work for a period of time and often for low payment)