With the lodger’s hat & nice gold guard,
She was up to the scratch, sir,
She had the cheek to call a cab,
With boxes in rotation,
Saying, Cabby, old boy, as quick as you like,
Drive off to Shoreditch Station.
Now her master soon returned home,
The truth I do declare, sir,
Saying the house is rob’d and Mary’s dead,
Here’s the poker cover’d with hair, sir