How dare you talk to Jaggard's Jim;
You drunken, poaching, boozing brute, you.
If Jaggard was a man he'd shoot you.'
She glared all this, but didn't speak,
She gasped, white hollows in her cheek;
Jimmy was writhing, screaming wild,
The shoppers thought I'd killed the child.
I had to speak, so I begun.
'You'd oughtn't beat your little son;
He did no harm, but seeing him there