He paused on the sill of a door ajar That screened a lively liquor-bar, For the name had reached him through the door Of her he had married the week before.
"We called her the Hack of the Parade;
But she was discreet in the games she played;
If slightly worn, she's pretty yet, And gossips, after all, forget.
"And he knows nothing of her past;
I am glad the girl's in luck at last;
Such ones, though stale to native eyes, Newcomers snatch at as a prize."
"Yes, being a stranger he sees her blent Of all that's fresh and innocent, Nor dreams how many a love-campaign She had enjoyed before his reign!"
That night there was the splash of a fall Over the slimy harbour-wall:
They searched, and at the deepest place Found him with crabs upon his face.