The Parson and the Undertaker

They hastily came complying,

And the Surgeon’s Prentices ran up stairs

When they heard that their Master was dying.

The Prentices all they enter’d the room,

By one, by two, by three;

With a sly grin came Joseph in,

First of the company.

The Surgeon swore, as they enter’d his door,—

’Twas fearful his oaths to hear,—

“Now send these scoundrels out of my sight,

I beseech ye, my brethren dear!”

He foam’d at the mouth with the rage he felt,

And he wrinkled his black eyebrow:

“That rascal Joe would be at me, I know,

But, zounds, let him spare me now!”

Then out they sent the Prentices;

The fit it left him weak;

He look’d at his brothers with ghastly eyes,

And faintly struggled to speak.

“All kinds of carcasses I have cut up,

And now my turn will be;

But, brothers, I took care of you;

So pray take care of me.

“I have made candles of dead men’s fat;

The Sextons have been my slaves;

I have bottled babes unborn, and dried

Hearts and livers from rifled graves.

“And my Prentices now will surely come

And carve me bone from bone;

And I, who have rifled the dead man’s grave,

Shall never have rest in my own.

“Bury me in lead when I am dead,

My brethren, I entreat,

And see the coffin weigh’d, I beg,

Lest the plumber should be a cheat.

“And let it be solder’d closely down,

Strong as strong can be, I implore;

And put it in a patent coffin,

That I may rise no more.

“If they carry me off in the patent coffin,

Their labor will be in vain;

Let the Undertaker see it bought of the maker,

Who lives by St. Martin’s Lane.

“And bury me in my brother’s church,

For that will safer be;

And, I implore, lock the church door,

And pray take care of the key.

“And all night long let three stout men

The vestry watch within;

To each man give a gallon of beer,

And a keg of Holland’s gin;—

“Powder and ball, and blunderbuss,

To save me if he can,

And eke five guineas if he shoot

A Resurrection Man.

“And let them watch me for three weeks,

My wretched corpse to save;

For then I think that I may stink

Enough to rest in my grave”.

The Surgeon laid him down in his bed;

His eyes grew deadly dim;

Short came his breath, and the struggle of death

Did loosen every limb.

They put him in lead when he was dead,

And, with precaution meet,

First they the leaden coffin weigh,

Lest the plumber should be a cheat.

They had it solder’d closely down,

And examin’d it o’er and o’er;

And they put it in a patent coffin,

That he might rise no more.

For to carry him off in a patent coffin,

Would, they thought, be but labor in vain,

So the Undertaker saw it bought of the maker,

Who lives by St. Martin’s Lane.

In his brother’s church they buried him,

That safer he might be;

They lock’d the door, and would not trust

The Sexton with the key.

And three men in the vestry watch,

To save him if they can;

And, should he come there, to shoot they swear

A Resurrection Man.

And the first night, by lantern light,

Through the church-yard as they went,

A guinea of gold the Sexton show’d

That Mister Joseph sent.

But conscience was tough; it was not enough;

And their honesty never swerved;

And they bade him go, with Mister Joe,

To the devil, as he deserved.

So all night long, by the vestry fire,

They quaff’d their gin and ale;

And they did drink, as you may think,

And told full many a tale.