Now Tim he was a feeling man:
For when his sight was thick,
It made him feel for everything—
But that was with a stick.
X.
So with a cudgel in his hand—
It was not light or slim—
He knock’d at his wife’s head until
It open’d unto him.
XI.
And when the corpse was stiff and cold
He took his slaughter’d spouse,
And laid her in a heap with all
The ashes of her house.
XII.
But like a wicked murderer,
He liv’d in constant fear
From day to day, and so he cut
His throat from ear to ear.
XIII.
The neighbours fetch’d a doctor in:
Said he, this wound I dread
Can hardly be sew’d up—his life
Is hanging on a thread.