Was all tight knotted round 'er knob like oakum on a mop, Poll.
Her bright blue eyes in mourning, and—well, there, I couldn't stop, Poll.
Labour? Well yus, the best of hus must work; yer carn't git quit of it;
And you and me, Poll, like the rest, must do our little bit of it.
But oh, I loves my freedom, Poll, my hevenings hoff is 'eaven;
But wives and slavies ain't allowed even one day in seven.
Jigger the men! Sam spouts and shouts about the 'Onest Worker.
That always means a Man, of course—he's a smart Man, the shirker!
But when a Man lives upon his wife, and skulks around his diggings,
Who is the "'Onest Worker" then?—Yours truly,