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MRS LOVETT
There was a barber and his wife
And he was beautiful
A proper artist with a knife
But they transported him for life
And he was beautiful...

He had this wife, you see
Pretty little thing, silly little nit
Had her chance for the moon on a string
Poor thing, poor thing

There were this judge, you see
Wanted her like mad
Every day he'd send her a flower
But did she come down from her tower?

Sat up there and thought by the hour, poor fool
Ah but there was worse yet to come, poor thing

Well Beadle calls on her all polite
Poor thing, poor thing
The judge, he tells her, is all contright
He blames himself for her dreadful plight
She must come straight to his house tonight
Poor thing, poor thing

Of course when she goes there
Poor thing, poor thing
They're having this ball all in masks
There's no one she knows there
Poor dear, poor thing

She wonders tormented and drinks, poor thing
The judge has repented she thinks, poor thing
Oh where is Judge Turpin?, she asks
He was there alright, only not so contright

She wasn't no match for such craft, you see
And everyone thought it so droll
They figured she had to be daft, you see
So all of them stood there and laughed, you see
Poor soul, poor thing