Ginx's Baby: His Birth and Other Misfortunes; a Satire

by Edward Jenkins

The crowd grew larger, and impeded the man's progress. Some of his fellow-workmen stood by regarding the fun.

“Leave us aloan, naabors,” shouted Ginx; “this is my own baby, and I'll do wot I likes with it. I kent keep it; an' if I've got anythin' I kent keep, it's best to get rid of it, ain't it? This child's goin' over Wauxhall Bridge.”

But the women clung to his arms and coattails.

“Hallo! What's all this about?” said a sharp, strong man, well-dressed, and in good condition, coming up to the crowd; “another foundling! Confound the place, the very stones produce babies. Where was it found?”

CHORUS (recognizing a deputy-relieving officer). It warn't found at all; it's Ginx's baby.

OFFICER. Ginx's baby? Who's Ginx?

GINX. I am.

OFFICER. Well?

GINX. Well!

CHORUS. He's goin' to drown it.