She’ll dance me frantic. Woman, say,
What shall be thy reward to-day?
Thou smil’st? Quick, herald! to the gateway
Decapitate the Baptist straightway!
3.
Yesterday for very bread,
In the mire she wallowèd;
But to-day, with pride o’erbearing,
In her carriage takes an airing.
On its silken cushions she
Rests her head, and haughtily
Looks upon the thronging masses
Whom on foot her carriage passes.
When I see thee travelling so,
Then my heart is fill’d with woe!
Ah, this carriage,—so prepare thee,—
To the hospital will bear thee,
Where unfeeling cruel death
Soon will take away thy breath,
And the student, with coarse greasy
Prentice hand, so free and easy,
Will cut up thy body fair
Anatomically there;
And at Montfaucon thy horses
At the knacker’s end their courses.
4.
Thou hast been by fate befriended
Better than at first I said;
God be praised, all now is ended!
God be praised, and thou art dead!
In thy poor and agèd mother’s
Garret thou at length didst die.
She, with love beyond all others,
Closed thy fair eyes tenderly.
She a winding-sheet bought duly,
And a coffin, and a grave;
Somewhat close and wretched truly
Was the funeral that they gave.
No priests at that funeral lonely
Sang, no bell toll’d mournfully;
Thy friseur and poodle only
As thy mourners follow’d thee.
“Ah!” the former sigh’d: “I often
“Used to comb Pomare’s hair,
“And her long black tresses soften,
“Sitting in her easy chair!”
But the dog,—away he scamper’d
At the churchyard gate anon,
And was lodged and fed and pamper’d
Afterwards by Rose Pompon.