'Tis early dawn-the morn is grey,

And the clouds and the tempest have pass'd away,
And all things betoken a very fine day;

But, while the Lark her carol is singing,

Shrieks and screams are through Tappington ringing! Upstarting all,

Great and Small.

Each one who's found within Tappington Hall,
Gentle or Simple, Squire or Groom,

All seek at once that old Gentleman's room;
And there on the floor,
Drench'd in its gore,

A ghastly corpse lies expos'd to the view,
Carotid and jugular both cut through;
And there by its side,

'Mid the crimson tide,

Kneels a little Foot-page of tenderest years;
Adown his pale cheek the fast-falling tears

Are coursing each other round and big,

And he 's staunching the blood with a full-bottom'd wig! Alas! and alack for his staunching! 'tis plain,

As anatomists tell us, that never again

Shall life revisit the foully slain,

When once they 've been cut through the jugular vein !

There's a hue and a cry through the County of Kent,
And in chase of the cut-throats a Constable's sent,
But no one can tell the man which way they went,
There's a little Foot-page with that Constable goes,
And a little pug-dog with a little pug-nose.

Rushes in, in a rage,

Upsetting the apple-sauce, onions, and sage.
That little Foot-page takes the first by the throat,
And a little pug-dog takes the next by the coat,
And a Constable seizes the one more remote ;

And fair rose-nobles, and broad moidores,

The Waiter pulls out of their pockets by scores,

And the Boots and the Chambermaids run in and stare; And the Constable says, with a dignified air,

"You 're wanted, Gen'lemen, one and all,

For that 'ere precious lark at Tappington Hall!”

There's a black gibbet frowns upon Tappington Moor,
Where a former black gibbet has frown'd before;
It is as black as black may be,

And murderers there

Are dangling in air,

By one, by two, by three!

There's a horrid old Hag in a steeple-crown'd hat,
Round her neck they have tied to a hempen cravat
A Dead Man's hand, and a dead Tom Cat.

They have tied up her thumbs, they have tied up her toes,
They have tied up her eyes, they have tied up her limbs,
Into Tappington mill-dam souse she goes,

With a whoop and a halloo!" She swims!-She swims!"
They have dragg'd her to land,

And every one's hand

Is grasping a faggot, a billet, or brand,

When a queer-looking horseman, dressed all in black,
Catches up that old harridan just like a sack

To the crupper behind him, puts spurs to his hack,
Makes a dash through the crowd, and is off in a crack!
No one can tell,

Though they guess pretty well,

Which way that grim rider and old woman go,
For all say he's a sort of infernal Ducrow;
And she scream'd so, and cried,

We may fairly decide

"Walk up!" he, in agony, cried;

"I bring you good news from Verona;

A wonderful wonder 's inside,

The devil in propri' personâ !"

His platform was soon filled with folk,

For sixpence a-head they came slap on it ;-.

He then drew a purse from his poke,

And showed them there was not a rap in it.

"Tho' you ne'er saw his worship before,
You'll admit, all, that this is the devil!-I-"
"The devil it is!" was the roar,

And they'd treated him rather uncivilly.

To his patron they fain would have sent him,
For their rage was fermenting "like bricks ;"

But he bolted, and they 'd to content 'em
By pitching his platform to Styx !

INVIS. GENT.