The Romance of Madame Tussaud's

by John Theodore Tussaud

Turns down the Old Bailey,

Where, in front of the gaol, he

Pulls up at the door of the gin-shop, and gaily

Cries, “What must I fork out to-night, my trump,

For the whole first-floor of the Magpie and Stump?”

St. Sepulchre’s clock strikes eight, and

God! ’tis a fearsome thing to see

That pale wan man’s mute agony,—

The glare of that wild, despairing eye,

Now bent on the crowd, now turn’d to the sky.