I took my oath I would inquire,
  Without affection, hate, or wrath,
Into the death of Ada Wright -
  So help me God! I took that oath.

When I went out to see the corpse,
  The four months' babe that died so young,
I judged it was seven pounds in weight,
  And little more than one foot long.

One eye, that had a yellow lid,
  Was shut - so was the mouth, that smiled;
The left eye open, shining bright -
  It seemed a knowing little child.

For as I looked at that one eye,
  It seemed to laugh, and say with glee:
'What caused my death you'll never know -
  Perhaps my mother murdered me.'

When I went into court again,
  To hear the mother's evidence -
It was a love-child, she explained.
  And smiled, for our intelligence.

'Now, Gentlemen of the Jury,' said
  The coroner - 'this woman's child
By misadventure met its death.'
  'Aye, aye,' said we. The mother smiled.

And I could see that child's one eye
  Which seemed to laugh, and say with glee:
'What caused my death you'll never know -
  Perhaps my mother murdered me.'