SHE WAS POOR BUT SHE WAS HONEST ...

She was poor but she was honest,
Victim of a Squire's whim.
First he loved her, then he left her,
So she lost her honest name.

Then she went away to London,
For to hide her grief and shame,
But she met another Squire,
So she lost her name again.

See the ancient village cottage,
Where her aged parents live,
Drinking the champagne she sends them,
But they never can forgive.

See her riding in her carriage,
In the park so fine and gay,
All the squires and nobby persons,
Stop to pass the time of day.

Now at night in the theatre,
In the front stalls there he sits,
While the gal what he has ruined,
Has to walk the blooming pit.

See him in the House of Commons,
Making laws to put down crime,
While the victim of his passions
Trails her way through mud and slime.

See her on the bridge at midnight,
Crying 'Farewell, blighted love!'
Then a cry, a splash, good 'evins,
What is she a-doing of?

Swiftly to the bank they brought her
Water from her clothes they wrung;
And they thought that she was drownded,
Till the corpse got up and sung:

'It's the same the whole world over,
It's the poor what gets the blame.
It's the rich what gets the 'oggins,
Ain't it all a blooming shame?'

--Author Unknown