And yells and cries without arise

That the stoutest heart might shock,

And a deafening roaring like a cataract pouring Over a mountain rock.

The Monk and Nun they told their beads

As fast as they could tell,

And aye as louder grew the noise

The faster went the bell.

Louder and louder the Choristers sung
As they trembled more and more,

And the Priests as they pray'd to heaven for aid,
They smote their breasts full sore.

The cock he crew, the Fiends they flew
From the voice of the morning away;
Then undisturb'd the Choristers sing,
And the fifty Priests they pray;
As they had sung and pray'd all night
They pray'd and sung all day.

The third night came, and the tapers' flame

A frightful stench did make;

And they burnt as though they had been dipt

In the burning brimstone lake.

And the loud commotion, like the rushing of ocean,
Grew momently more and more;

And strokes as of a battering ram,
Did shake the strong church door.

The bellmen, they for very fear
Could toll the bell no longer;
And still as louder grew the strokes,
Their fear it grew the stronger.

The Monk and Nun forgot their beads,
They fell on the ground in dismay;
There was not a single Saint in heaven
To whom they did not pray.

And the Choristers' song, which late was so strong,
Falter'd with consternation,

For the church did rock as an earthquake shock
Uplifted its foundation.

And a sound was heard like the trumpet's blast,
That shall one day wake the dead;

The strong church door could bear no more,
And the bolts and the bars they fled;

And the tapers' light was extinguish'd quite,
And the choristers faintly sung,

And the Priests dismay'd, panted and pray'd,
And on all Saints in heaven for aid
They call'd with trembling tongue.

And in He came with eyes of flame,
The Devil to fetch the dead,

And all the church with his presence glow'd
Like a fiery furnace red.

He laid his hand on the iron chains,

And like flax they moulder'd asunder, And the coffin lid, which was barr'd so firm, He burst with his voice of thunder.

And he bade the Old Woman of Berkeley rise,
And come with her master away ;

A cold sweat started on that cold corpse,
At the voice she was forced to obey.

She rose on her feet in her winding sheet,
Her dead flesh quiver'd with fear,

And a groan like that which the Old Woman gave
Never did mortal hear.

She follow'd her Master to the church door,
There stood a black horse there;

His breath was red like furnace smoke,
His eyes like a meteor's glare.

The Devil he flung her on the horse,

And he leapt up before,

And away like the lightning's speed they went,

And she was seen no more.

They saw her no more, but her cries

For four miles round they could hear,

And children at rest at their mothers' breast
Started, and scream'd with fear.

Hereford, 1798.

THE SURGEON'S WARNING.

THE subject of this parody was suggested by a friend, to whom also I am indebted for some of the stanzas.

Respecting the patent coffins herein mentioned, after the manner of Catholic Poets, who confess the actions they attribute to their Saints and Deity to be but fiction, I hereby declare that it is by no means my design to depreciate that useful invention; and all persons to whom this Ballad shall come are requested to take notice, that nothing herein asserted concerning the aforesaid coffins is true, except that the maker and patentee lives by St. Martin's Lane.

THE Doctor whisper'd to the Nurse,
And the Surgeon knew what he said;

And he grew pale at the Doctor's tale,
And trembled in his sick-bed.

"Now fetch me my brethren, and fetch them with speed,"

The Surgeon affrighted said;

“The Parson and the Undertaker,

Let them hasten or I shall be dead."

The Parson and the Undertaker

They hastily came complying,

And the Surgeon's Prentices ran up stairs
When they heard that their Master was dying.

The Prentices all they enter'd the room,

By one, by two, by three

;

With a sly grin came Joseph in,

First of the company.

The Surgeon swore as they enter'd his door, 'T was fearful his oaths to hear,

"Now send these scoundrels out of my sight, I beseech ye, my brethren dear!"

He foam'd at the mouth with the rage he felt, And he wrinkled his black eye-brow,

"That rascal Joe would be at me, I know, But zounds, let him spare me now!"

Then out they sent the Prentices,
The fit it left him weak,

He look'd at his brothers with ghastly eyes,

And faintly struggled to speak.

"All kinds of carcases I have cut up,

And now my turn will be;

But, brothers, I took care of you,

So pray take care of me.