THE "VIDUATE DAME"'Tis the widow of Thomas Blythe,And she goeth upon the spree,And red are cheeks of the bystandersFor her acts are light and free.In a seven-ounce costumeThe widow of Thomas Blythe,Y-perched high on the window ledge,The difficult can-can tryeth.Ten constables they essayTo bate the dame's halloing.With the widow of Thomas BlytheTheir hands are overflowing,And they cry: "Call the National GuardTo quell this parlous muss—For all of the widows of Thomas BlytheAre upon the spree and us!"O long shall the eerie tale be toldBy that posse's surviving tithe;And with tears bedewed he'll sing this rudeBall`d of the widow of Thomas Blythe.
'Tis the widow of Thomas Blythe,And she goeth upon the spree,And red are cheeks of the bystandersFor her acts are light and free.In a seven-ounce costumeThe widow of Thomas Blythe,Y-perched high on the window ledge,The difficult can-can tryeth.Ten constables they essayTo bate the dame's halloing.With the widow of Thomas BlytheTheir hands are overflowing,And they cry: "Call the National GuardTo quell this parlous muss—For all of the widows of Thomas BlytheAre upon the spree and us!"O long shall the eerie tale be toldBy that posse's surviving tithe;And with tears bedewed he'll sing this rudeBall`d of the widow of Thomas Blythe.