 | The Ingoldsby Lyrics |  |
278
‘Perdition catch thy arm, the chance is thine!’
It is—I'm dying—Oh!—I can no more!—
For worlds I could not read another line!
Adieu!—I lay my death at Colburn's door!
(Invalid sinks exhausted, faints, groans a tragedy groan, and expires.
The imp clasps his hands, and bends over him in the most approved
Macready attitude—Enters Coroner's Jury, and sit upon the body.
Books produced in evidence; several of the gentlemen impannelled
taken ill at their appearance; Mr. Baker's Clerk carried out in a
swoon.—Corpse examined; viscera
much inflamed, and brain
altogether evaporated. Verdict—“Accidental death from suffocation
by mephitic
gas, administered in
puffs
by some person or persons
unknown.”—A deodand of one farthing on the volumes.)It is—I'm dying—Oh!—I can no more!—
For worlds I could not read another line!
Adieu!—I lay my death at Colburn's door!
| The Ingoldsby Lyrics | |