And further:
Poor little, poor little, poor little me,
The public house is closed,
My head's aching me...
The love of a loafer
Is spice, is spice;
But the prostitute
Is as cold as ice.
Ha-ha-ha!
They came together
Matched as well as might be,
She is a prostitute,
A pickpocket he.
Ha-ha-ha!
Now morning has come,
He is planning a theft;
While she lies in her bed
And laughs like she's daft.
Ha-ha-ha!
Comes morning, the laddie
Is led to the pen;
But for the prostitute
His pals await then.
Ha-ha-ha! ...
[Footnote: While there can be but little doubt that these four
stanzas are an actual transcript from life, Heinrich Heine's "Ein
Weib" is such a striking parallel that it may be reproduced here
as a matter of interest. The translation is by Mr. Louis
Untermeyer.--Trans.
A WOMAN
They loved each other beyond belief--
She was a strumpet, he was a thief;
Whenever she thought of his tricks, thereafter
She'd throw herself on the bed with laughter.
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