Tales of Terror With an introductory dialogue [by M. G. Lewis] |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. | No. XVI. THE SCULLION-SPRITE;
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| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
 | Tales of Terror |  |
111
No. XVI. THE SCULLION-SPRITE;
OR, THE GARRET-GOBLIN.
A ST. GILES'S TALE.
[_]
Written by a boot-catcher at “the Pig and Pepper-box,” in imitation of Mallet's William and Margaret.
Ah! who can see, and seeing not admire,
Whene'er she sets the pot upon the fire!
Her hands outshine the fire, and redder things;
Her eyes are blacker than the pot she brings.
Shenstone.
Whene'er she sets the pot upon the fire!
Her hands outshine the fire, and redder things;
Her eyes are blacker than the pot she brings.
Shenstone.
'Twas at the hour when sober cits
Their eyes in slumber close;
In bounced Bett Scullion's greasy ghost,
And pinch'd Tom Ostler's toes!
Their eyes in slumber close;
In bounced Bett Scullion's greasy ghost,
And pinch'd Tom Ostler's toes!
112
Her flesh was like a roasting pig's,
So deadly to the view!
And coal-black was her smutty hand,
That held her apron blue.
So deadly to the view!
And coal-black was her smutty hand,
That held her apron blue.
So shall the reddest chops appear,
When life's last coal expires;
Such is the garb that cooks must wear,
When death has quench'd their fires.
When life's last coal expires;
Such is the garb that cooks must wear,
When death has quench'd their fires.
Her face was like a raw beef-steak,
Just ready to be fried;
Carrots had budded on her cheek,
And beet-root's crimson pride.
Just ready to be fried;
Carrots had budded on her cheek,
And beet-root's crimson pride.
But love had, like the fly-blow's power,
Despoil'd her buxom hue;
The fading carrot left her cheek,
She died at twenty-two!
Despoil'd her buxom hue;
The fading carrot left her cheek,
She died at twenty-two!
—“Awake!” she cried, “Bett Scullion bawls!
“Come from her garret high;
“Now hear the maid, for whom you scorn'd,
“A wedding-ring to buy.
“Come from her garret high;
“Now hear the maid, for whom you scorn'd,
“A wedding-ring to buy.
113
“This is the hour, when scullion ghosts
“Their dish-clouts black resume:
“And goblin cooks ascend the loft,
“To haunt the faithless groom!
“Their dish-clouts black resume:
“And goblin cooks ascend the loft,
“To haunt the faithless groom!
“Bethink thee of thy tester broke,
“Thy disregarded oath;
“And give me back my mutton pies,
“And give me back my broth.
“Thy disregarded oath;
“And give me back my mutton pies,
“And give me back my broth.
“How could you swear my sops were nice,
“And yet those sops forsake?
“How could you steal my earthen dish,
“And dare that dish to break?
“And yet those sops forsake?
“How could you steal my earthen dish,
“And dare that dish to break?
“How could you promise lace to me,
“And give it all to Nan?
“How could you swear my goods were safe,
“Yet lose my dripping pan?
“And give it all to Nan?
“How could you swear my goods were safe,
“Yet lose my dripping pan?
“How could you say my pouting lip,
“With purl and hollands vies?
“And why did I, sad silly fool,
“Believe your cursed lies?
“With purl and hollands vies?
“And why did I, sad silly fool,
“Believe your cursed lies?
114
“Those sops, alas! no more are nice!
“Those lips no longer pout!
“And dark and cold's the kitchen grate!
“And every spark is out!
“Those lips no longer pout!
“And dark and cold's the kitchen grate!
“And every spark is out!
“The hungry worm my master is,
“His cook I now remain;
“Cold lasts our night, till that last morn
“Shall raise my crust again!
“His cook I now remain;
“Cold lasts our night, till that last morn
“Shall raise my crust again!
“The kitchen clock has warn'd me hence,
“I've other fish to fry;
“Low in her grave, thou sneaking cur,
“Behold Bett Bouncer lie!”—
“I've other fish to fry;
“Low in her grave, thou sneaking cur,
“Behold Bett Bouncer lie!”—
The morning smiled, the stable boys
Their greasy night-caps doff'd;
Tom Ostler scratch'd his aching head,
And swearing left the loft.
Their greasy night-caps doff'd;
Tom Ostler scratch'd his aching head,
And swearing left the loft.
He hied him to the kitchen-grate,
But, ah! no Bett was there!
He stretch'd him on the hearth, where erst
Poor Betty plied her care!
But, ah! no Bett was there!
He stretch'd him on the hearth, where erst
Poor Betty plied her care!
115
And thrice he sobb'd Bett Bouncer's name,
And blew his nose quite sore;
Then laid his cheek on the cold hob,
And horse rubb'd never more!
And blew his nose quite sore;
Then laid his cheek on the cold hob,
And horse rubb'd never more!
| Tales of Terror | |