I MUST, I will have gin!—that skillet take, Pawn it.—No more I'll roast, or boil or bake. This juice immortal will each want supply; Starve on, ye brats! so I but bung my eye. Starve? No! This gin ev'n mother's milk excels, Paints the pale cheeks, and hunger's darts repels. The skillet's pawned already? Take this cap; Round my bare head I'll yon brown paper wrap. Ha! half my petticoat was torn away By dogs (I fancy) as I maudlin lay. How the wind whistles through each broken pane! Through the wide-yawning roof how pours the rain! My bedstead's cracked; the table goes hip-hop.— But see! the gin! Come, come, thou cordial drop! Thou sovereign balsam to my longing heart! Thou husband, children, all! We must not part! @3Drinks@1 Delicious! O! Down the red lane it goes; Now I'm a queen, and trample on my woes. Inspired by gin, I'm ready for the road; Could shoot my man, or fire the King's abode. Ha! my brain's cracked.—The room turns round and round; Down drop the platters, pans: I'm on the ground. My tattered gown slips from me.—What care I? I was born naked, and I'll naked die. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WIND AT THE DOOR by WILLIAM BARNES A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF GOD by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE JOURNEY ONWARDS by THOMAS MOORE NEARER by ROBERT MALISE BOWYER NICHOLS THE SINGER IN THE PRISON by WALT WHITMAN A POEM FOR THE SEFIROT AS WHEEL OF LIGHT by NAFTALI BACHARACH |