The Ingoldsby Legends :: :: University of Virginia Library

The clock strikes One!
Supper is done,
And Sir Carnaby Jenks is full of his fun,
Singing “Jolly companions every one!”
My Lord Tomnoddy
Is drinking gin-toddy,
And laughing at ev'ry thing, and ev'ry body.
The clock strikes Two!—and the clock strikes Three!
—“Who so merry, so merry as we?”
Save Captain M`Fuze,
Who is taking a snooze,
While Sir Carnaby Jenks is busy at work,
Blacking his nose with a piece of burnt cork.

The clock strikes Four!
Round the debtors' door
Are gathered a couple of thousand or more;
As many await
At the press-yard gate,
Till slowly its folding doors open, and straight
The mob divides, and between their ranks
A waggon comes loaded with posts and with planks.

The clock strikes Five!
The sheriffs arrive,
And the crowd is so great that the street seems alive;
But Sir Carnaby Jenks
Blinks, and winks,
A candle burns down in the socket, and stinks.
Lieutenant Tregooze
Is dreaming of Jews,
And acceptances all the bill-brokers refuse;
My Lord Tomnoddy
Has drunk all his toddy,

303

And just as the dawn is beginning to peep,
The whole of the party are fast asleep.
Sweetly, oh! sweetly, the morning breaks,
With roseate streaks,
Like the first faint blush on a maiden's cheeks;
Seem'd as that mild and clear blue sky
Smiled upon all things far and nigh,
On all—save the wretch condemned to die!
Alack! that ever so fair a Sun
As that which its course has now begun,
Should rise on such scene of misery!
Should gild with rays so light and free
That dismal, dark-frowning Gallows-tree!

And hark!—a sound comes, big with fate;
The clock from St. Sepulchre's tower strikes—Eight!—
List to that low funereal bell:
It is tolling, alas! a living man's knell!
And see!—from forth that opening door
They come—He steps that threshold o'er
Who never shall tread upon threshold more.
—God! 'tis a fearsome thing to see
That pale wan man's mute agony,
The glare of that wild despairing eye,
Now bent on the crowd, now turn'd to the sky,
As though 'twere scanning, in doubt and in fear,
The path of the Spirit's unknown career;
Those pinion'd arms, those hands that ne'er
Shall be lifted again,—not ev'n in prayer;
That heaving chest!—Enough—'tis done!
The bolt has fallen!—the Spirit is gone—
For weal or for woe is known but to One!—
Oh! 'twas a fearsome sight!—Ah me!
A deed to shudder at,—not to see.

304

Again that clock!—'tis time, 'tis time!
The hour is past:—with its earliest chime
The cord is severed, the lifeless clay
By “dungeon villains” is borne away:
Nine!—'twas the last concluding stroke!
And then—my Lord Tomnoddy awoke!
And Tregooze and Sir Carnaby Jenks arose,
And Captain M`Fuze, with the black on his nose;
And they stared at each other, as much as to say
“Hollo! Hollo!
Here's a Rum Go!
Why, Captain!—myLord!—Here's the Devil to pay!
The fellow's been cut down and taken away!
What's to be done?
We've missed all the fun!
Why, they'll laugh at, and quiz us all over the town,
We are all of us done so uncommonly brown!”

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!