Imatges de pÓgina

Clever TOM CLINCH going to be banged.

Written in the Year 1727.

AS clever Tom Clinch, while the rabble

was bawling,

Rode ftately through Holbourn to die in his calling;

He stopt at The George for a bottle of fack, And promis'd to pay for it when he came back

His waistcoat and stockings, and breeches were white;

His cap had a new cherry ribband to tye't. The maids to the doors and the balconies ran,

And faid, Lack-a day! he's a proper young


But, as from thewindows the ladies he spy'd, Like a beau in the box, he bow'd low on each fide;

And, when his laft fpeech the loud hawkers did cry,

He fwore from his cart, it was all a damn'd


The hangman for pardon fell down on his knee;

Tim gave him a kick in the guts for his fee: Then faid, I muft fpeak to the people a little, But I'll fee yon all damn'd before I will *whittle.

My honeft friend + Wild may he long hold his place,

He lengthen'd my life with a whole year of grace.

Take courage, dear comrades, and be not afraid,

Nor flip this occafion to follow your trade; My confcience is clear, and my spirits are calm,

And thus I go off without pray'r-book or pfalm;

Then follow the practice of clever Tom
Who hung like a hero, and never would


*A cant word for confeffing at the gallows.

The noted thief-catcher,

under-keeper of Newgate, who was hanged for receiving. ftolen goods.


On cutting down the old THORN at

Written in the Year 1727.

T Market-bill, as well appears
By chronicle of ancient date,
There ftood for many hundred years
A fpacious thorn before the gate.

Hither came ev'ry village-maid,

And on the boughs her garland hung, And here, beneath the fpreading fhade, Secure from fatyrs fat and fung.

+ Sir Archibald that val'rous knight,
Then lord of all the fruitful plain,
Would come to liften with delight,
For he was fond of rural ftrain.

(Sir Archibald, whose fav'rite name
Shall ftand for ages on record,
By Scottish bards of highest fame,
+Wife Hawthornden and Stirling'slord).

* A village near the feat of Sir Arthur Achefon, where the dean fometimes made a long vifit.

- + Sir Archibald Achefon, fecretary of state for Scotland.

Drummond of Hawthornden, and Sir William Alexander earl of Sterling, who were both friends to Sir Archibald, and famous for their poetry.


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But time with iron teeth I ween,

Haş canker'd all its branches round;
No fruit or bloffom to be feen,
Its head reclining tow'rds the ground.
This aged, fickly, fapless thorn,

Which must alas no longer stand,
Behold the cruel dean in fcorn

Cuts down with facrilegious hand. Dame Nature, when fhe faw the blow, Aftonish'd gave a dreadful fhrick; And mother Tellus trembled fo,

She scarce recover'd in a week.

The fylvan pow'rs with fear perplex'd,
In prudence and compaffion fent

(For none could tell whofe turn was next) Sad omens of the dire event,


The magpye, lighting on the ftock,

Stood chatt'ring with inceffant din; And with her beak gave many a knock, To rouze and warn the nymph within,

The owl forefaw, in penfive mood,
The ruin of her ancient feat;
And fled in hafte with all her brood
To feek a more fecure retreat.


Laft trotted forth the gentle fwine,

To cafe her itch against the ftump, And difmally was heard to whine,

All as the fcrubb'd her meazly rump. The nymph, who dwells in ev'ry tree

(If all be true that poets chant), Condemn'd by fate's fupreme decree, Muft die with her expiring plant. Thus when the gentle Spina found

The thorn committed to her care, Receiv'd its laft and deadly wound,

She fled and vanish'd into air.

But from the root a dismal groan
Firft iffuing ftruck the murd❜rer's ears;
And in a fhrill revengeful tone

This prophecy he trembling hears. "Thou chief contriver of my fall,


"Relentless dean, to mischief born; "My kindred oft thine hide fhall gall, Thy gown and caffock oft be torn. " And thy confed'rate dame, who brags "That the condemn'd me to the fire, Shall rent her petticoats to rags, "And wound her legs with ev'ry briar.


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