These twisted thumbs my parentage bespeak,
And next the limp, the famous wink appears;
The eyelid drooping down upon my cheek,
Adds certain proof to my convincing ears.
A butcher’s cart was my paternal lot,
In Wapping stood my proud ancestral halls;
Ambition made me spurn a humble cot,
And lodged me where I am, in Newgate’s walls.
“Yon house erected on the rising ground,
With tempting aspect drew me from my road;