In nightcap, in her wretched room
Waiting until her husband come,
Sat Mary Anne in tears alone.
She only said: “I’m very weary,
He cometh not,” she said;
She said—“And if he cometh beery,
He’s sure to punch my head!
Her tears fell all that bitter even,
As sighing she sat there alone,
She ’gan to weep at half-past seven,