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 No Wickedness But I Was Game To Try For It. Now If I Wanted Anything To Drink At Any Time, I Only Had To Cry For It! Once, If I Dared To Weep, The Bottle Lacking, My Blubbering Involved A Serious Smacking! "We Grew Up In The Usual Way--My Friend, My Foster-Brother, Daily Growing Thinner, While Gradually I Began To Mend, And Thrived Amazingly On Double Dinner. And Every One, Besides My Foster-Mother, Believed That Either Of Us Was The Other. "I Came Into His Wealth--I Bore His Name, I Bear It Still--His Property I Squandered - I Mortgaged Everything--And Now (Oh, Shame!) Into A Somers Town Shake-Down I've Wandered! I Am No Paley--No, Vollaire--It's True, My Boy! The Only Rightful Paley V. Is You, My Boy! "And All I Have Is Yours--And Yours Is Mine. I Still May Place You In Your True Position: Give Me The Pounds You've Saved, And I'll Resign My Noble Name, My Rank, And My Condition. So Far My Wickedness In Falsely Owning Your Vasty Wealth, I Am At Last Atoning!" * * * * * * * Frederick He Was A Simple Soul, He Pulled From His Pocket A Bulky Roll, And Gave To Paley His Hard-Earned Store, A Hundred And Seventy Pounds Or More. Paley Vollaire, With Many A Groan, Gave Frederick All That He Called His Own, - Two Shirts And A Sock, And A Vest Of Jean, A Wellington Boot And A Bamboo Cane. And Fred (Entitled To All Things There) He Took The Fever From Mr. Vollaire, Which Killed Poor Frederick West. Meanwhile Vollaire Sailed Off To Madeira'S Isle.