A Pathetic Ballad.
Originally published in The Casket, or Flowers of Literature, Wit and Sentiment (Atkinson & Alexander) vol.3 #6 (Jun 1828).
"'Twas in the middle of the night,
To sleep young William tried,
When Mary's ghost came stealing in,
And stood at his bed-side.
"O William dear! O William dear,
My rest eternal ceases;
Alas! my everlasting peace
Is broken into pieces.
"I thought the last of all my cares,
Would end with my last minute;
But tho' I went to my long home,
I didn't stay long in it.
"The body-snatchers they have come,
And made a snatch at me;
It's very hard them kind of men
Won't let a body be!
"You thought that I was buried deep,
Quite decent like and chary,
But from her grave in Mary-bone,
They've come and bon'd your Mary.
"The arm that used to take your arm,
Is took to Dr. Vyse;
And both my legs are gone to walk
The hospital at Guy's.
"I yow'd that you should have my hand,
But fate gives us denial;
You'll find it there, at Doctor Bell's,
In spirits and a phial.
"As for my feet, the little feet,
You used to call so pretty,
There's one I know, in Bedford Row,
The t'other's in the city.
"I can't tell where my head is gone,
But Doctor Carpue can:
As for my trunk, it's all pack'd up
To go by Pickford's van.
"I wish'd you'd go to Mr. P.
And save me such a ride;
I don't half like the outside place,
They've took for my inside.
"The cock it crows—I must begone!
My William, we must part!
But I'll be your's in death, altho'
Sir Astley has my heart.
"Don't go to weep upon my grave,
And think that there I be.
They have'nt left an atom there,
Of my anatomie."