The Ingoldsby Legends :: :: University of Virginia Library

There's an Old Woman dwells upon Tappington Moor,
She hath years on her back at the least fourscore,
And some people fancy a great many more;
Her nose it is hook'd,
Her back it is crook'd,
Her eyes blear and red:
On the top of her head
Is a mutch, and on that
A shocking bad hat,
Extinguisher-shaped, the brim narrow and flat:
Then, My Gracious! her beard!— it would sadly perplex
A spectator at first to distinguish her sex;
Nor, I'll venture to say, without scrutiny cou'd he
Pronounce her, off-handed, a Punch or a Judy.
Did you see her, in short, that mud-hovel within,
With her knees to her nose, and her nose to her chin,
Leering up with that queer, indescribable grin,
You'd lift up your hands in amazement, and cry,
“—Well! I never did see such a regular Guy!”

And now before
That Old Woman's door,
Where nought that's good may be,
Hand in hand
The Murderers stand,
By one, by two, by three!

Oh! 'tis a horrible sight to view,
In that horrible hovel, that horrible crew,
By the pale blue glare of that flickering flame,
Doing the deed that hath never a name!
'Tis awful to hear
Those words of fear!
The pray'r mutter'd backwards, and said with a sneer!
(Matthew Hopkins himself has assured us that when
A Witch says her pray'rs, she begins with Amen.)—
'Tis awful to see
On that Old Woman's knee
The dead, shrivell'd hand, as she clasps it with glee!—
And now, with care,
The five locks of hair
From the skull of the Gentleman dangling up there,
With the grease and the fat
Of a black Tom Cat
She hastens to mix,
And to twist into wicks,
And one on the thumb, and each finger to fix.—
(For another receipt the same charm to prepare,
Consult Mr. Ainsworth and Petit Albert.)

“Now open lock
To the Dead Man's knock!
Fly bolt, and bar, and band!
Nor move, nor swerve
Joint, muscle, or nerve,
At the spell of the Dead Man's hand!
Sleep all who sleep!—Wake all who wake!—
But be as the Dead for the Dead Man's sake!!”