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, y'see, Pretty little thing, Silly little nit, Had her chance for the moon on a string. Poor thing. Poor thing. There was this judge, y'see Wanted her like mad Everyday he sent 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 contrite, 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 'avin' this ball all in masks! There's no one she knows there, poor dear, poor thing! She wanders 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 contrite! She wasn't no match for such craft, y'see, And everyone thought it so droll. They figured she had to be daft, y'see, So all of them stood there and laughed, y'see! Poor soul! Poor thing!
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