Wi’ lengthen’d pace I hasten’d off
At summat like a trot;
Ta get ta t’place I started for,
Mi blood wor boiling hot.
An’ what I saw at Lackock Gate,
Rear’d up ageean a post,
I cuddant tell—but yet I thowt
It wor another goast!
But whether it wor a goast or net,
I heddant time ta luke,
Fer I wor takken bi surprise
When turning t’Sharman’s Nuke.
Abaat two hunderd yards i’ t’front,
As near as I could think,
I thowt I heeard a dreeadful noise,
An’ nah an’ then a clink!
Whativver can these noises be?
Some robbers, then I thowt!—
I’d better step aside an’ see,
They’re happen up ta nowt!
So I gat ower a fence ther wor,
An’ peeping threw a gate,
Determin’d to be satisfied,
If I’d a while to wait.
At last two figures com ta t’spot
Whear I hed hid misel,
Then walkers’-earth and brimstone,
Most horridly did smell.
Wun on em hed a nine-tail’d cat,
His face as black as sooit,
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’ clooas 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 ta maw
Owd Jack O’Doodle’s Croft.