Then up he sprang; policemen three
They wasn’t half so spry as he.
And even Corder, as comed from Plym-
Mouth, he couldn’t get quits with him.
But cruel sad and wisht the tale,
For Daniel from this mortal vale
Did take his leave; but there’s no mirth
Down in the bowels of the earth,
Where he be now—excuse my groans,
For fitches and weasles do pick his bones.