Richard Harris Barham

A servant's too often a negligent elf; If it's business of consequence, !

His eye so dim, So wasted each limb, That, heedless of grammar, they all cried, “! That’s the scamp that has done this scandalous thing! That’s the thief that has got my Lord Cardinal’s Ring!”

Never was heard such a terrible curse! But what gave rise To no little surprise, Nobody seem’d one penny the worse!

He curs’d him in sleeping, that every night He should dream of the devil, and wake in a fright

And six little Singing-boys,—dear little souls! In nice clean faces, and nice white stoles, Came in order due, Two by two, Marching that grand refectory through.

And the priests, with awe, As such freaks they saw, Said, “The Devil must be in that little Jackdaw!”

The jackdaw sat on the Cardinal’s chair! Bishop and abbot and prior were there; Many a monk, and many a friar, Many a knight, and many a squire, With a great many more of lesser degree,— In sooth, a goodly company;

But wherever they live, or whenever they die, They'll never get quit of young Hamilton Tighe.

Now haste ye, my handmaidens, haste and see How he sits there and glow'rs with his head on his knee!

Here's a corpse in the case with a sad swell'd face, And a 'Crowner's Quest' is a queer sort of thing!

What was to be done? — 'twas perfectly plain That they could not well hang the man over again: — What was to be done? — The man was dead! — Nought could be done — nought could be said; So — my Lord Tomnoddy went home to bed!

Though I 've always consider'd Sir Christopher Wren, As an architect, one of the greatest of men; And, — talking of Epitaphs, — much I admire his "Circumspice, si Monumentum requiris;" Which an erudite Verger translated to me, " If you ask …

Next morning I was up betimes — I sent the Crier round, All with his bell and gold-laced hat, to say I'd give a pound To find that little vulgar Boy, who'd gone and used me so; But when the Crier cried, "O Yes!" the people cried, "O No!"