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Poem	Because I was a wonton wild And welcomed many a lover, Who is the father of my child I wish I could discover. For though I know it is not right In tender arms to tarry, A barmaid has to be polite To Tom and Dick and Harry. My truest love was Poacher Jim: I wish my babe was his'n. Yet I can't father it on him Because he was in prison. As uniforms I like, I had A soldier and a sailor; Then there was Pete the painter lad, And Timothy the tailor. Though virtue hurt you vice ain't nice; They say to err is human; Alas! one pays a bitter price, It's hell to be a woman. Oh dear! Why was I born a lass Who hated to say: No, sir. I'd better in my sorry pass Blame Mister Simms, the grocer.
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