Wi lengthened pace I hasten’d off
At summat like a trot;
To get to t’place I started for,
Me blooid wor boiling hot.
An’ what I saw at Lackock Gate,
Rear’d up agean a post,
I cuddant tell—but yet I thowt
It wor another goast!
Bud whether it wor goast or not,
I heddant time to luke,
Fer I wor taken be surprise,
When turning t’Sharman’s Nuke.
Abaat two hundard yards e t’front,
As near as I cud think,
I thowt I heeard a dreadful noise,
An nah an then a clinck!
What ivver can these noises be?
Some robbers, then I thowt!—
I’d better step aside an see,
They’re happen up to nowt!
So I gat ower a fence there wor,
An peeping through a gate,
Determined I’d be satisfied,
If I’d awhile to wait.
At t’last two figures com to t’spot
Where I hed hid mesel,
Then walkers-heath and brimstone,
Most horridly did smell.
Wun on em hed a nine-tail’d cat,
His face as black as soit,
His name, I think, wor Nickey Ben,
He hed a clovven fooit.
An t’other wor all skin an bone
His name wor Mr. Deeath;
Withaat a stitch o’ clothes he wor,
An seem’d quite aght o’ breeath.
He hed a scythe, I plainly saw,
He held it up aloft,
Just same as he wor bahn to maw
Oud Jack Keilie’s Croft.