I had to speak, so I begun. ’You’d oughtn’t beat your little son; He did no harm, but seeing him there I talked to him and gi’m a pear; I’m sure the poor child meant no wrong, It’s all my fault he stayed so long, He’d not have stayed, mum, I’ll be bound If I’d not chanced to come around. It’s all my fault he stayed, not his. I kept him here, that’s how it is.’ ’Oh! And how dare you, then?’ says she, ’How dare you tempt my boy from me? How dare you do’t, you drunken swine, Is he your child or is he mine? A drunken sot they’ve had the beak to, Has got his dirty whores to speak to, His dirty mates with whom he drink, Not little children, one would think. Look on him, there,’ she says, ’look on him And smell the stinking gin upon him, The lowest sot, the drunk’nest liar, The dirtiest dog in all the shire: Nice friends for any woman’s son After ten years, and all she’s done. ’For I’ve had eight, and buried five, And only three are left alive. I’ve given them all we could afford, I’ve taught them all to fear the Lord. They’ve had the best we had to give, The only three the Lord let live. ’For Minnie whom I loved the worst Died mad in childbed with her first. And John and Mary died of measles, And Rob was drownded at the Teasels. And little Nan, dear little sweet, A cart run over in the street; Her little shift was all one stain, I prayed God put her out of pain. And all the rest are gone or going The road to hell, and there’s no knowing For all I’ve done and all I’ve made them I’d better not have overlaid them. For Susan went the ways of shame The time the ’till’ry regiment came, And t’have her child without a father I think I’d have her buried rather. And Dicky boozes, God forgimme, And now’t’s to be the same with Jimmy. And all I’ve done and all I’ve bore Has made a drunkard and a whore, A bastard boy who wasn’t meant, And Jimmy gwine where Dicky went; For Dick began the self-same way And my old hairs are going gray, And my poor man’s a withered knee, And all the burden falls on me. ’I’ve washed eight little children’s limbs, I’ve taught eight little souls their hymns, I’ve risen sick and lain down pinched And borne it all and never flinched; But to see him, the town’s disgrace, With God’s commandments broke in’s face, Who never worked, not he, nor earned, Nor will do till the seas are burned, Who never did since he was whole A hand’s turn for a human soul, But poached and stole and gone with women, And swilled down gin enough to swim in; To see him only lift one finger To make my little Jimmy linger.