The surly crier rings his nightly knell,
The willing guest departs his weary way,
And hears with joy the lonely Prison-bell,
Nor wishes with his wretched friend to stay.
Now rest the noisy racket-playing cry,
And rattling balls against the dreary wall;
To them succeed the ruin-hurling die,
And bawling Potmen’s never ceasing call.
Within these narrow cells, in durance vile,
Where lurid Vengeance holds its baleful reign,