 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
798
A BABY'S PRICE.
First his little shoes I sold,
Then the knitted socks
Followed, then (in spite of cold)
All his broidered frocks;
There he shivers in his bed,
Under tatters thin,
Sheets and blankets long have fled—
For the cursèd gin;
None will lend me fitting food,
Howsoe'er I lie,
And though he is very good,
Baby now must die.
Then the knitted socks
Followed, then (in spite of cold)
All his broidered frocks;
There he shivers in his bed,
Under tatters thin,
Sheets and blankets long have fled—
For the cursèd gin;
None will lend me fitting food,
Howsoe'er I lie,
And though he is very good,
Baby now must die.
Soak I will, at any cost,
For I cannot think,
Character and all are lost—
But the power to drink;
Every stick at last is gone,
That a penny gives,
And the raging thirst gnaws on,
While my darling lives;
He's a burden too, and brings
Trouble in his track,
Nothing earns, and to me clings—
Baby now must pack.
For I cannot think,
Character and all are lost—
But the power to drink;
Every stick at last is gone,
That a penny gives,
And the raging thirst gnaws on,
While my darling lives;
He's a burden too, and brings
Trouble in his track,
Nothing earns, and to me clings—
Baby now must pack.
He's insured, a pretty sum,
And one tiny twist—
Just a finger and a thumb—
Might the end assist;
That's not murder—he would go,
Shortly—it's too late,
Him to keep for sadder woe,
From a certain fate;
Children are so cheap, and this
Only death will buy,
Though he pleasant is to kiss—
Baby now must fly.
And one tiny twist—
Just a finger and a thumb—
Might the end assist;
That's not murder—he would go,
Shortly—it's too late,
Him to keep for sadder woe,
From a certain fate;
Children are so cheap, and this
Only death will buy,
Though he pleasant is to kiss—
Baby now must fly.
One more squeeze—another yet—
Fondly trusts he still,
Sure his mother won't forget,
Never means him ill;
Bless his pretty eyes and lips,
And those loving ways,
That sweet throat the demon grips,
While he mutely prays;
Ha, the money's mine, and gin
Better far than bread,
Soon will drown the needful sin—
Baby now is dead.
Fondly trusts he still,
Sure his mother won't forget,
Never means him ill;
Bless his pretty eyes and lips,
And those loving ways,
That sweet throat the demon grips,
While he mutely prays;
Ha, the money's mine, and gin
Better far than bread,
Soon will drown the needful sin—
Baby now is dead.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |