MARIA LORD THROWN OVER THE BRIDGE
So Edward has thrown me over the bridge, puts me to the blush. Swears I misused my body, indeed! Yes, I dorsed with him before marriage; he complained not about his prize Judy then! Man and wife six and ten years, a phos to the Female Factory at Parramatta, where you eyed over your assigned mistress. Pullets for plucking! But an Officer and Gentleman I durst not refuse. I swished to quit that foul and filthy loft, the prisoncrib, those stinking privies, cooped up carding, spinning, weaving coarse clouts for chums. I yearned to be a ragcovess and you were a nib with prime connections back Home and in Vandemonia. You won land grants and priceless convict navvies, raised the brads. What drummonds we shared! I brought dues to light, built up the covenants of trade. Thrifty, bold, never struck upon the mace, I was flash to every move on the board: monopolies in wheat and meat, sold caz, supplied Knopwood gallons of lush, loaned blunt, bonneted for you in rum. More than your helpmeet; partners, palls. Smooth fop, you didn’t come to the mark, flew the quids, mizzled for Sydney. I’ll be sworn, you have wrung my heart taking away our six dear children, all currency. I must nash from Ingle Hall, the family pew at St David’s, part without parley. You haven’t quite cleaned me