Jack, the Regular.
"Jack, the Regular, is dead! Honor to the man who slew him!"
So the Bergen farmers said as they crowded round to view him;
For the wretch that lay there slain had with wickedness unbending
To their roofs brought fiery rain, to their kinsfolk woeful ending.
Not a mother but had prest, in a sudden pang of fearing,
Sobbing darlings to her breast when his name had smote her hearing;
Not a wife that did not feel terror when the words were uttered;
Not a man but chilled to steel when the hated sounds he muttered—
Jack, the Regular.