’Twas a maiden lady, the newspapers say,
Pious and prim and a bit gone-gray.
She slept like an angel, holy and white,
Till ten o’clock in the shank o’ the night,
When men and other wild animals prey,
And then she cried in the viewless gloom:
“There’s a man in the room, a man in the room!”
And this maiden lady, they make it appear,
Leapt out of the window, five fathom sheer!
Alas, that lying is such a sin
When newspaper men need bread and gin
And none can be had for less than a lie!
For the maiden lady a bit gone-gray
Saw the man in the room from across the way,
And leapt, not out of the window but in—
Ten fathoms sheer, as I hope to die!