Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold :: :: University of Virginia Library

They are rather afraid of Big Bell
And her bouncing,
Though the reason is simple and easy to tell—
She has given to many a bully a trouncing;
And she lays it on thick
With a broomstick or brick,
Or whatever comes handy—
See her last victim, “Sandy!”
She is fond of the glass and a jolly good fling
In the Whitechapel gutter,
With her hiccough and stutter—
That voluminous wench, that voluptuous Thing!

She is blowsy of features—Big Bell.
They look scarlet
When she lurches along like a ship in a swell,
Bearing down and full sail on some cowardly varlet,
With her lolloping tread
That would waken the dead,
From the garish gas hot-house
Of the gin-reeking pot-house;
Ah, I pity the craven who crosses her then,
On the road or her doorsill;
He is just a mere morsel,
For that ogress who mocks at a dozen such men.

523

Never bonnet was worn by Big Bell,
She despises
Your tame fashions, and rolls on unhatted to hell,
In her own rough-and-tumble undress that surprises;
Her great shoes do not pair,
And around her black hair
With its natural glossing
And tempestuous tossing
She has sometimes been known to disport a red shawl;
And indeed her bare bosom
Often flares a flame blossom,
Unconcealed, and would shock Mistress Grundy and all.

But a tender heart still has Big Bell,
And she gathers
In its compass lost dogs and stray cats, and as well
Every child she finds crying she mothers and fathers;
For the dirtiest brat
With its head like a mat,
She would spend and quite willing,
Her last loaf or last shilling.
But whenever she tramps on the warpath of drink
Glooming darker than Hindoos,
Neighbours shut up their windows
While they fasten their doors and away from her slink.