MY friend the Judge is pink and fat;
A ruby shines from his cravat;
And when a street-girl pale and thin
Tells in his court her life of sin,
He vindicates morality —
The phrase is his, and well may be! —
By listening to her sordid tale
And sending her straightway to jail:
He shakes his venerable head,
Then shakes the prison-keys.
(She sells her body for her bread;
He sells his soul for ease.)
My landlord leads a righteous life,
Providing for his child and wife
By buying cheap from who must sell
And selling dear to who must buy;
He would not steal; he would not tell,
Even to save himself, a lie;
But an embezzling clerk, his niece,
He handed to the town police:
‘A cheat,’ he said, with solemn nod.
(Yet he was given the gift of life
And squandered it for child and wife :
Has he not cheated God?)
Because twelve men convicted her,
They hanged a girl at Lancaster
To-day at rise of sun,
Who killed her false love’s love-child. (I,
Who in my soul have slain at birth
So many selves of promised worth, —
What murders I have done !)