Now his palate she tickles with the chops and the pickles, Till, so great the effect of that stiff gin grog, His weaken'd body, subdued by the toddy, Falls out of the chair, and he lies like a log.
Then out comes the Clerk from his secret lair; He lifts up the legs, and she lifts up the head, And, between them, this most reprehensible pair Undress poor Gengulphus and put him to bed.
Then the bolster they place athwart his face, And his night-cap into his mouth they cram; And she pinches his nose underneath the clothes, Till the "poor dear soul" goes off like a lamb.
And now they tried the deed to hide; For a little bird whisper'd, "Perchance you may swing; Here's a corpse in the case with a sad swell'd face, And a Medical Crowner's a queer sort of thing!"
So the Clerk and the wife, they each took a knife, And the nippers that nipp'd the loaf-sugar for tea; With the edges and points they sever'd the joints At the clavicle, elbow, hip, ankle, and knee.
Thus, limb from limb, they dismember'd him So entirely, that e'en when they came to his wrists, With those great sugar-nippers they nipped off his "flippers," As the Clerk, very flippantly, termed his fists.
When they'd cut off his head, entertaining a dread Lest folks should remember Gengulphus's face, They determined to throw it where no one could know it, Down the well,—and the limbs in some different place.
But first the long beard from the chin they shear'd, And managed to stuff that sanctified hair, With a good deal of pushing, all into the cushion That filled up the seat of a large arm-chair.
They contriv'd to pack up the trunk in a sack, Which they hid in an osier-bed outside the town, The Clerk bearing arms, legs and all on his back, As that vile Mr. Greenacre served Mrs. Brown.