Page:The Ingoldsby Legends (Frowde, 1905).pdf/92

 There's a hue and a cry through the County of Kent, And in chase of the cut-throats a Constable's sent, But no one can tell the man which way they went: There's a little Foot-page with that Constable goes, And a little pug-dog with a little pug nose.

In Rochester town, At the sign of the Crown, Three shabby-genteel men are just sitting down To a fat stubble-goose, with potatoes done brown; When a little Foot-page Rushes in, in a rage, Upsetting the apple-sauce, onions, and sage. That little Foot-page takes the first by the throat, And a little pug-dog takes the next by the coat, And a Constable seizes the one more remote; And fair rose-nobles and broad moidores, The Waiter pulls out of their pockets by scores, And the Boots and the Chambermaids run in and stare; And the Constable says, with a dignified air, 'You're wanted, Gen'lemen, one and all, For that 'ere precious lark at Tappington Hall!'

There's a black gibbet frowns upon Tappington Moor, Where a former black gibbet has frown'd before: It is as black as black may be, And murders there Are dangling in air, By one!—by two!—by three!

There's a horrid old hag in a steeple-crown'd hat, Round he neck they have tied to a hempen cravat A Dead Man's hand, and a dead Tom Cat! They have tied up her thumbs, they have tied up her toes, They have tied up her eyes, they have tied up her limbs! Into Tappington mill-dam souse she goes, With a whoop and halloo!—'She swims!—She swims!' They have dragg'd her to land, And every one's hand Is grasping a faggot, a billet, or brand, When a queer-looking horseman, drest all in black, Snatches up that old harridan just like a sack To the crupper behind him, puts spurs to his hack, Makes a dash through the crowd, and is off in a crack! No one can tell, Though they guess pretty well, Which way that grim rider and old woman go, For all see he's a sort of infernal Ducrow;