Shirt all mildewed, hair all matted,
Sockets that each have royally
Fed the crow with a precious eye.
O for slashing Bess the brown!
Where, old lass, have they earthed thee
down?
Sobb'st beneath a carrier's thong?
Strain'st a coalman's cart along?
Shame to foot it!—must be so.
See, the mists are smitten below;