She was poor but she was honest,
Victim of a rich man’s game.
First he loved her, then he left her,
And she lost her honest name.
Then she ran away to London
For to hide her grief and shame.
There she met an Army captain,
And she lost her name again.
See her riding in her carriage,
In the Park and all so gay
All the nibs and nobby persons
Come to pass the time of day.
See the little old-world village
Where her aged parents live,
Though they drink champagne she sends them;
Yet they never can forgive.
In the rich man’s arms she flutters,
Like a bird with broken wing:
First he loved there, then he left her,
And she hasn’t got a ring.
See him in his splendid mansion,
Entertaining with the best,
While the girl that he has ruined,
Entertains a sordid guest.
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.
Standing on the bridge at midnight,
Crying “Farewell, blighted love”.
Then a scream, a splash, and . . Goodness!
What is she a-doing of?
When they dragged her from the river
Water from her clothes they wrung.
Though they thought that she was drownded,
Still her 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 pleasure,
Ain’t it all a blooming shame?”