Sminky - that's strange. According to my copy of Roud it should be on p42 of Victorian Street Ballads!

And below is The Workhouse Girl that I mentioned earlier.


Mick

---

WORKHOUSE GIRL

You ax me to sing, so of course I shall,
I'll sing yu the fate of the poor vorkus gal,
Who tein-sister vos to teh ill-fated child,
Who in the soup-kettle you knew vos biled.
From teh time she heard of her brother's decease,
The poor cretur know'd not one moment of peace,
But vent out of her mind, and then rav'd & swore,
Not vonce in her life vould she gollop soup more.
  Oh, the poor vorkus gal, &c.

Th werry next day, at the time they all feed,
Ven I thinks on the brutes, my heart's fit to bleed
The poor cretur come vith the rest to be fed
Ven a dollop of soup vith taters and bread,
Vos shoved in her fist, all svimming vith fat,
And missus she told her to grub upon that.
As soon as she saw it, says I she I discover
This soup has been made from the bones of my brother.
  Oh, the poor, &c.

The old voman flew in a rage so hot,
And svore she vould murder teh gal on the spot,
So the poor cretur then in a terrible plight,
Bolted away vith all her might.
Avay she vent vithout bonnet or shawl,
She cut down the yard and got over the vall,
And not von pauper there, child, voman, or man,
For the starving poor cretur cared one tinker's d---
  Oh, the poor, &c

Now a month pass'd on, no gal vos found,
Says an old cook pauper, 'no doubt she's drowned,
Unless some kind cove out of charity,
Has given her arsenic.' says he.
But oh, he vas wrong, for the wery same night
A knock at the door put them all in a fright,
And ven it vas opened, there stood, oh lud,
The poor starving cretur all vallowed in mud.
  Oh, the poor, &c

Her cheeks vas hollow and sunk her eyes,
Her belly stuck out such a monstrous size,
Most awful her look, dishevelled her hair,
And all her poor body vas bleeding and bare,
And as the poor gal along the hall valked,
She seemed as if from the grave she had stalked,
Ven I think on the scene, quite sick my heart turns
You must know the poor cretur vos troubled vith vorms.
  Oh, the poor, &c

They sent for a doctor, they sent for a nuss,
But ven they both comed the poor cretur vas vuss
They guved her some gruel, they tallowed her nose
But werry soon after she turned up her toes.
Now all the parishioners flewed in a pet,
And svore that a Coroner's inquest should set;
Ven the Coroner comed, but the wery next day,
The vorms vith the body had crawled away.
  Oh, the poor, &c


Source: Bodleian broadside Firth c.16(313) printed by: E.
Hodges, from Pitts Wholesale Toy and Marble Warehouse