Slip my little earring
Into the folds of Danza’s dress,
Then let her take the dangle-pearl
And let it to her mess.
Let the servant come and sweep,
And throw it to the ground
And when the gardener’s hours are over,
Let him take it while he’s around.
When the morrow rises,
With Luna still in the sky,
Let him take it to the meat-man,
To bake it in a pie.
When the hooded man strolls by today,
Let him take it for six pence.
And he will stroll to the mangy manor,
And leap over the fence,
And serve it to the master,
Whom will take it with tea,
And read the scroll within the pearl,
“They are coming. You must flee.”