Marwood’s in the churchyard, as dead as any mummy;
The Queen she wants a hangman, which sounds a little rummy!
The tender-hearted maiden says “hanging’s out of date!”
When down comes a black cap upon the Judge’s pate!
F. B. Doveton. 1886.
Sing a song of gunnery, a science full of slips,
Three-and-forty tonners packed into our ships;
When the guns were fired, the tubes began to burst—
Wasn’t this a clever thing not to know at first?