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 | The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes |  |
THE GALLOWS BIRD'S LAST SONG
Good people, listen unto me,
I'm going for to sing;
Tomorrow on the gallows tree
I'm going for to swing;
I always was a modest man,
They shouldn't treat me so,
To stick me on a scaffolding
When people are below!
I'm going for to sing;
Tomorrow on the gallows tree
I'm going for to swing;
I always was a modest man,
They shouldn't treat me so,
To stick me on a scaffolding
When people are below!
I can't just tell where I was born,
And don't a great deal care—
If men get well into the world
It's no great matter where:
And I've forgot the fellow's name,
That took me to be bred—
I only know he pulled my ears,
And so I broke his head.
And don't a great deal care—
If men get well into the world
It's no great matter where:
And I've forgot the fellow's name,
That took me to be bred—
I only know he pulled my ears,
And so I broke his head.
It makes me sad to speak of them—
Those loved and cherished ears;
They've been upon the pillory
These many, many years:
It pained me much to part with them,
Such long and faithful friends—
And so I took the Mayor's horse,
To make myself amends.
Those loved and cherished ears;
They've been upon the pillory
These many, many years:
It pained me much to part with them,
Such long and faithful friends—
And so I took the Mayor's horse,
To make myself amends.
The constables came after me,
And took me up one day:
They tied my hands and called me names—
But then I got away.
To say I stole—it made me feel
Unutterable grief,
And so I robbed upon the road,
To show I wan't a thief.
And took me up one day:
They tied my hands and called me names—
But then I got away.
To say I stole—it made me feel
Unutterable grief,
And so I robbed upon the road,
To show I wan't a thief.
They're going to hang me for it now
And this is all I've got
For standing like a gentleman
The risk of being shot—
To have a fellow paw my neck,
And fix it in a string—
And I a hearty lad—it seems
A devilish paltry thing.
And this is all I've got
For standing like a gentleman
The risk of being shot—
To have a fellow paw my neck,
And fix it in a string—
And I a hearty lad—it seems
A devilish paltry thing.
They're waiting for me to be dished,
Like flocks of carrion crows;
The doctor wants my skeleton,
The jailor wants my clothes;
The hangman has been practising
How slip-knots should be tied;
The tanner made a morning call—
I think he wants my hide!
Like flocks of carrion crows;
The doctor wants my skeleton,
The jailor wants my clothes;
The hangman has been practising
How slip-knots should be tied;
The tanner made a morning call—
I think he wants my hide!
They've put me in a picture book,
The likeness isn't true—
My eyes were never goggle eyes,
My nose is not askew—
And here's the sheriff at the door,
I wish they'd let me be—
It may be pleasant work to them—
It isn't fun to me!
The likeness isn't true—
My eyes were never goggle eyes,
My nose is not askew—
And here's the sheriff at the door,
I wish they'd let me be—
It may be pleasant work to them—
It isn't fun to me!
| The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes | |