 | English Roses |  |
SWEARING SALLY.
Swearing, tearing on she goes
In and out the alley,
Treading upon neighbour's toes
If with her they dally,
Like an earthquake in her throes—
Dirty drunken Sally.
Others, when they mark too near
Those devouring paces,
Deem discretion in the rear
Quite the best of graces,
And retire in abject fear
From her vast embraces.
In and out the alley,
Treading upon neighbour's toes
If with her they dally,
Like an earthquake in her throes—
Dirty drunken Sally.
Others, when they mark too near
Those devouring paces,
Deem discretion in the rear
Quite the best of graces,
And retire in abject fear
From her vast embraces.
Bawling, brawling Sally sweeps
In her devious courses
Through the dark and squalid deeps,
Crime's sequestered sources,
Whence the knife of murder creeps
Out from cruel forces.
Terrible as doom, and strong
As the storms of nature,
Noisily she rolls along
Roused to her full stature,
Writing with a hand of wrong
Blood in legislature.
In her devious courses
Through the dark and squalid deeps,
Crime's sequestered sources,
Whence the knife of murder creeps
Out from cruel forces.
Terrible as doom, and strong
As the storms of nature,
Noisily she rolls along
Roused to her full stature,
584
Blood in legislature.
Singing, swinging, heard from far,
Brazen-faced and blowsy,
She must call at every bar
Clothed in tatters frowsy;
Leaving here a scoff or scar,
There a relic lousy.
Sturdy is her foot and free
Like some iron treadle,
From her windmill progress flee
Folks that fool and peddle;
For with Sally on the spree,
Wise men do not meddle.
Brazen-faced and blowsy,
She must call at every bar
Clothed in tatters frowsy;
Leaving here a scoff or scar,
There a relic lousy.
Sturdy is her foot and free
Like some iron treadle,
From her windmill progress flee
Folks that fool and peddle;
For with Sally on the spree,
Wise men do not meddle.
Weary, dreary, then she turns
Sheepish home and shabby;
While the heart within her yearns,
Over some stray tabby,
And her aching bosom burns
Just to squeeze a babby.
But when sleep recruits her frame,
Risen as a giant
Ready for the coarsest game
And of all defiant,
Sally still repeats her shame,
Sturdy, self-reliant.
Sheepish home and shabby;
While the heart within her yearns,
Over some stray tabby,
And her aching bosom burns
Just to squeeze a babby.
But when sleep recruits her frame,
Risen as a giant
Ready for the coarsest game
And of all defiant,
Sally still repeats her shame,
Sturdy, self-reliant.
| English Roses | |