A
PARODY
ON
“MARY’s GHOST;”
OR,
The Doctors
AND
BODY-SNATCHERS.
A
Pathetic Tale,
WITH
Numerous Additions
NORWICH;
Printed by Christopher Berry, Chettleburgh’s Court, Rampant
Horse Street, St. Stephen’s.
A PARODY
ON
“MARY’S GHOST.”
“’Twas in the middle of the night,
To sleep Young William tried;
When Mary’s Ghost came stealing in,
And stood at his bed-side.”
“O William dear! O William dear!
My rest eternal ceases;
Alas! my everlasting peace,
Is broken into pieces.”
“I thought the last of all my cares,
Would end with my last minute;
But though I went to my long home,
I did not stay long in it.”
“The body-snatchers they have come,
And made a snatch at me;
It’s very hard them kind of men,
Won’t let a body be.”
You thought that I was buried deep,
Quite decent to the eye;
With roses growing o’er my grave,
In Dr-mm-nd’s Rosary.
But William dear, my rest was short,
It was not very chary;
Them boney-men, they did march in,
And bone away your Mary.
I wish you’d speak to Mr. D.
Who owes the patent ground;
And tell him that his patent graves,
Are neither safe nor sound.
I vow that his new land-of-tombs,
Made so genteel and pretty;
Is not a bit more safer than,
Old Tombland in the City.
Alas! it is a joint-stock-thing,
The shares are down so low;
E’re long they’ll break up all the banks,
Of Dr-mm-nd, Son & Co.
And in a sack did go;
To be a little body at,
Sir Dalley’s great depôt.
I was cut up as Stratford was,
And Y-ll-ly from Carrow;
Came stealing in—and stole away,
My brains and spinal-marrow.
I vow’d that you should have my hand,
But fate gives us denial;
You’ll find it there at Doctor Wr-ght’s,
In spirits and a phial.
How very hard my William dear,—
How very hard the loss is;
That both my legs should have to walk,
The Surgery at Cr-ss’s.
And that my arms,—the tender arms,
That now in death do part us;
Should both of them be taken down,
To dwell at Doctor C-rt-r’s.
As for my eyes,—the lovely eyes,
That once beam’d from their sockets;
You’ll find them both at Mr. H-ll’s,
In his large breeches-pockets.
My very skull was lent to St-rk,
Without any apology;
And all my lumps and bumps he found,
That are in Craniology.
But when my skull came back from St-rk,
That clever organ-finder;
It was found out that Cr-wc—r had,
Pluck’d out—every grinder.
As for my feet,—the little feet,
You used to call so pretty;
There’s one I know at the Town-close,
The t’other’s in the city.
The Pupils dear, them sweet young men,
I vow they wrote on vellum;
A letter to the Doctors big,
And got my cerebellum.
As for my hair—the auburn hair,
You used to love so well;
Alas! it’s gone to deck the head,
Of lovely Mrs. B-ll.
My very liver and my lungs,
E’en them were not forgot;
But given to them cruel men,
Long J-hns-n and Page Sc-tt.
I thought I should have lost a rib,
And many other stores;
But Doctor Ev-ns took instead,
A rib from Brazen-doors.
To say where my soft kidneys are,
The Newspapers will tell;
Therefore you need not ring at night,
At “Doctor Engl-nd’s Bell.”
To boil me down—did Doctor Pure,
Affirm ’twould be a sin;
And then Old J-rv-s wink’d his eye,
And swore he’d tan my skin.
I can’t tell where my head is gone,
But M-lls and N-ch-ls can;
Also my trunk which is to go,
By M-n-ym-nt’s night-van.
I wish you’d go to Mr. M.
And save me such a ride;
“I don’t half like the outside place,
They’ve took for my inside.”
“The cock it crows—I must be gone!
My William we must part!
But I’ll be yours in death—altho’
Sweet N-rg-te has my heart.”
“Don’t go to weep upon my grave,
And think that there I be;
They hav’n’t left an atom there,
Of my anatomie.”
BERRY, PRINTER, NORWICH