Oft stretch’d were their necks, oft erected their ears, Still fancying they heard of the trumpets the sound, When tidings arriv’d, which disolv’d them in tears, That my Lord at the dead-house was then lying drown’d! Straight left _tête a tête_ were the jailor and thief; The horror-struck crowd to the dead-house quick hies; Ev’n the lawyers, forgetful of fee and of brief, Set off, helter-skelter, to view my _Lord ’Size_. And now the Sandhill with the sad tidings rings, And the _tubs_ of the _taties_ are left to take care; Fish-women desert their crabs, lobsters, and lings, And each to the dead-house now runs like a hare. The Glassmen, some _naked_, some _clad_, heard the news, And off they ran smoking, like hot mutton-pies; Whilst Castle-garth Tailors, like wild _Kangaroos_, Came, _tail-on-end_ jumping, to see my _Lord ’Size_. The dead-house they reach’d, where his Lordship they found, Pale, stretch’d on a plank, like themselves _out of breath_; The _Crowner_ and Jury were seated around, Most gravely enquiring the cause of his death. No haste did they seem in, their task to complete, Aware that from hurry mistakes often rise; Or wishful, perhaps, of prolonging the treat Of thus sitting in judgment upon my _Lord ’Size_. Now the Mansion-house Butler thus gravely depos’d:-- “My Lord on the terrace seem’d studying his _charge_; And when (as I thought) he had got it compos’d, He went down the stairs and examin’d the barge. First the stem he survey’d, then inspected the stern, Then handled the tiller, and look’d mighty wise; But he made a false step when about to return, And souse in the river straight tumbled _Lord ’Size_.” Now his narrative ended--the Butler retir’d, Whilst _Betty Watt_, mut’ring (half drunk) thro’ her teeth, Declar’d, “in her _breest great consarn_ it inspir’d, That my Lord should sae _cullishly_ come by his _deeth_.” Next a keelman was call’d on, _Bold Archy_ his name, Who the book as he kiss’d shew’d the whites of his eyes; Then he cut an odd caper, attention to claim, And this evidence gave them respecting _Lord ’Size_. “Aw was _setten_ the keel, wi’ _Dick Stavers_ an’ _Mat_, An’ the Mansion-hoose Stairs we were just alangside, When we a’ three _see’d sumthing_, but didn’t ken _what_, That was _splashing_ and _labbering_ aboot i’ the tide. “It’s a _fluiker_!” ki Dick; “No,” ki Mat, “it’s owre big, “It luik’d mair like a _skyat_ when aw furst see’d it rise:” Kiv aw--for aw’d getten a gliff o’ the wig-- Odds marcy! Wye, marrows, becrike it’s _Lord ’Size_.