Poor Thing - Patti LuPone (lyrics):
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, you see,
Pretty little thing.
Silly little nit
Had her chance for the moon on a string--
Poor thing, poor thing.
There were these two, you see,
Wanted her like mad,
One of 'em a judge,
T'other one his beadle.
Every day they'd nudge
And they'd wheedle.
Still she wouldn't budge
From her needle.
Too bad. Pure thing.
So they merely shipped the poor blighter off south, they did,
Leaving her with nothing but grief and a year-old kid.
Did she use her head even then? Oh no, God forbid!
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 havin' 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, all right--
Only not so contrite!
She wasn't no match for such craft, you see,
And everone thought it so droll.
They figured she had to be daft, you see,
So all of 'em stood there and laughed, you see.
Poor soul!
Poor thing!
26 фев 2017
