"'Tis now some thirty-seven years ago
Since first began the plot that I'm revealing,
A fine young woman, whom you ought to know,
Lived with her husband down in Drum Lane, Ealing.
Herself by means of mangling reimbursing,
And now and then (at intervals) wet-nursing.

"Two little babes dwelt in their humble cot:
One was her own--the other only lent to her:
HER OWN SHE SLIGHTED. Tempted by a lot
Of gold and silver regularly sent to her,
She ministered unto the little other
In the capacity of foster-mother.

"I WAS HER OWN. Oh! how I lay and sobbed
In my poor cradle--deeply, deeply cursing
The rich man's pampered bantling, who had robbed
My only birthright--an attentive nursing!
Sometimes in hatred of my foster-brother,
I gnashed my gums--which terrified my mother.

"One day--it was quite early in the week--
I IN MY CRADLE HAVING PLACED THE BANTLING--
Crept into his! He had not learnt to speak,
But I could see his face with anger mantling.
It was imprudent--well, disgraceful maybe,
For, oh! I was a bad, blackhearted baby!

"So great a luxury was food, I think