Because I gave a piece of silk
To my friend of the golden curls,
One ( may the dogs devour him ) threw a stone at my window,
And hooted and jeered and made base noise with his mouth.
Nay, worse, this son of a sea-slug ( may his line perish )
Hurled hard names at my friend,
Calling her Tart, and Flusey, and Tom; and, as we walked together,
Cried: `Watcher, Nancy, who's yer friend with the melon face
And the bug-eaten cabbage-leaf on his head?’
The lean and scurvy dog that slinks about Pennyfields
Flew in great fear at sight of this reprover of our doings,
And came to me, and rubbed itself against my shoe.