In Parisian squares, she chopped.
away to quell her sinful mob,
while angels graced the lurid mist
and frowned upon her justice,
whose crowd regaled with rotting fruits,
as cheered her fatal razor.
For heartless in that leaden gloom
stood Mariah tall and keen.
Then haunted Robespierre did weep,
lain on her breasts to pray, but fair
she was, and sharp she came to wrest
him from his duty.