What gives your arms such fearful power
To raise the dust in blinding shower?
Who gave you strength, your mortal dower,
To beat the mats as with a flail.
To lift with ease that heavy pail?
What can it matter, Mary Ann,
What songs the long-legged son of Mars—
The butcher or the cat's meat man—
Sings to you thro' the area bars?
O, red-armed Mary, you may tell