Tim look’d up, and Tim look’d down,
He paused, and he put on a thoughtful frown,
And he held up his hat, and he peep’d in the crown;
He bit his lip, and he scratch’d his head,
He let go the handle, and thus he said,
As the door released, behind him bang’d:
“An’t please you, my Lord, there’s a man to be hang’d.”
My Lord Tomnoddy jump’d up at the news,
“Run to M’Fuse. And Lieutenant Tregooze,
And run to Sir Carnaby Jenks, of the Blues.