But just when Tim had liv’d a month In honey with his wife, A surgeon ope’d his Milton eyes, Like oysters, with a knife. VII. But when his eyes were open’d thus, He wish’d them dark again: For when he look’d upon his wife, He saw her very plain. VIII. Her face was bad, her figure worse, He couldn’t bear to eat: For she was any thing but like A Grace before his meat. IX. Now Tim he was a feeling man: For when his sight was thick, It made him feel for everything-- But that was with a stick. X. So with a cudgel in his hand-- It was not light or slim-- He knock’d at his wife’s head until It open’d unto him. XI. And when the corpse was stiff and cold He took his slaughter’d spouse, And laid her in a heap with all The ashes of her house. XII. But like a wicked murderer, He liv’d in constant fear From day to day, and so he cut His throat from ear to ear. XIII. The neighbours fetch’d a doctor in: Said he, this wound I dread Can hardly be sew’d up--his life Is hanging on a thread. XIV. But when another week was gone, He gave him stronger hope-- Instead of hanging on a thread, Of hanging on a rope. XV. Ah! when he hid his bloody work, In ashes round about, How little he supposed the truth Would soon be sifted out. XVI. But when the parish dustman came, His rubbish to withdraw, He found more dust within the heap, Than he contracted for! XVII. A dozen men to try the fact, Were sworn that very day; But tho’ they all were jurors, yet No conjurors were they. XVIII. Said Tim unto those jurymen, You need not waste your breath, For I confess myself at once, The author of her death. XIX. And oh! when I reflect upon The blood that I have spilt, Just like a button is my soul, Inscrib’d with double _guilt_! XX. Then turning round his head again, He saw before his eyes, A great judge, and a little judge, The judges of a-size! XXI. The great judge took his judgment cap, And put it on his head, And sentenc’d Tim by law to hang, Till he was three times dead. XXII. So he was tried, and he was hung (Fit punishment for such) On Horsham-drop, and none can say It was a drop too much. THE MONKEY-MARTYR. A FABLE. “God help thee, said I, but I’ll let thee out, cost what it will: so I turned about the cage to get to the door.”--STERNE.