'Tis early dawn--the morn is grey, And the clouds and the tempest have pass'd away, And all things betoken a very fine day; But, while the lark her carol is singing, Shrieks and screams are through Tappington ringing! Upstarting all Great and small, Each one who's found within Tappington Hall, Gentle and Simple, Squire or Groom, All seek at once that old Gentleman's room; And there, on the floor, Drench'd in its gore, A ghastly corpse lies exposed to the view, Carotid and jugular both cut through! And there, by its side, 'Mid the crimson tide, Kneels a little Foot-page of tenderest years; Adown his pale cheek the fast-falling tears Are coursing each other round and big, And he's staunching the blood with a full-bottom'd wig! Alas! and alack for his staunching!--'tis plain, As anatomists tell us, that never again Shall life revisit the foully slain, When once they've been cut through the jugular vein. * * * * * 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 murderers there Are dangling in air, By one!--by two!--by three!