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
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