| A doll in the doll-maker’s house |
| Looks at the cradle and bawls: |
| ‘That is an insult to us.’ |
| But the oldest
of all the dolls, |
| Who had seen, being kept for show, |
| Generations of his sort, |
| Out-screams the whole
shelf: ‘Although |
| There’s not a man can report |
| Evil of this place, |
| The man and the woman bring |
| Hither, to
our disgrace, |
| A noisy and filthy thing.’ |
| Hearing him groan and stretch |
| The doll-maker’s wife is aware |
| Her
husband has heard the wretch, |
| And crouched by the arm of his chair, |
| She murmurs into his ear, |
| Head
upon shoulder leant: |
| ‘My dear, my dear, O dear, |
| It was an accident.’ |