I But a Little Girl
by Bob Franke

I know it is a wicked thing
In such a fashion for to sing
With no regard for god nor king
And I but a little girl

But evil shapes do bid my tongue
Great judges and divined among
To say things strange to one so young
For I'm but a little girl

My friends and I thought little harm
To go to Reverend Parris' farm
Our secret fortunes for to charm
Such sport for a little girl!

But Betty’s eyes did roll about
And Abigail began to shout
And so the devil found us out
We being but little girls

And so we cried and cried aloud
The names of mighty men and proud
And haughty women in the crowd
We being but little girls

And the justice of the holy court
Did show its terror of our sport
And the powers of the world resort
To the whims of little girls

The prisons full   —
The gallows moan   —
The old man crushed
      beneath the stone   —
Are not the work of mine alone   —
For I'm but a little girl


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