“You take Porgie off my hands, and he'll help you—”
“Oh, no, child, every lassie has her laddie—and you saw him first.”
Warble sighed. Thus was she always thrown at Porgie's head.
Fate, like a sluicing torrent carried her ever on. Beware, beware, the rapids are below you!
Thus Conscience, Prudence, Wisdom, Policy, Safety First—all the deadly virtues called her.
Did she heed?
As the sea's self should heed a pebble-cast.
On a June evening, when Petticoat was called to Iva Payne's, Porgie came.