MY LORD TOMNODDY
by: R.H. Barham
- Y Lord
Tomnoddy got up one day;
- It was half after two,
- He had nothing to do,
- So his Lordship rang for his cabriolet.
- Tiger Tim
- Was clean of limb,
- His boots were polished, his jacket was trim;
- With a very smart tie in his smart cravat,
- And a smart cockade on the top of his hat;
- Tallest of boys, or shortest of men,
- He stood in his stockings just four foot ten;
- And he asked as he held the door on the swing,
- "Pray, did your Lordship please to ring?"
-
- My Lord Tomnoddy he raised his head,
- And thus to Tiger Tim he said,
- "Malibran's dead,
- Duvernay's fled,
- Taglioni has not yet arrived in her stead;
- Tiger Tim, come tell me true,
- What may a nobleman find to do?"
-
- Tim looked up, and Tim looked down,
- He paused, and he put on a thoughtful frown,
- And he held up his hat, and he peeped in the crown,
- He bit his lip, and he scratched his head,
- He let go the handle, and thus he said,
- As the door, released, behind him banged:
- "An't please you, my Lord, there's a man to be hanged."
-
- My Lord Tomnoddy jumped up at the news,
- "Run to M'Fuze,
- And Lieutenant Tregooze,
- And run to Sir Carnaby Jenks, of the Blues.
- Rope-dancers a score
- I've seen before--
- Madame Sacchi, Antonio, and Master Black-more:
- But to see a man swing
- At the end of a string,
- With his neck in a noose, will be quite a new thing!"
-
- My Lord Tomnoddy stepped into his cab--
- Dark rifle green, with a lining of drab;
- Through street, and through square,
- His high-trotting mare,
- Like one of Ducrow's, goes pawing the air,
- Adown Piccadilly and Waterloo Place
- Went the high-trotting mare at a very quick pace;
- She produced some alarm,
- But did no great harm,
- Save frightening a nurse with a child on her arm,
- Spattering with clay
- Two urchins at play,
- Knocking down--very much to the sweeper's dismay--
- An old woman who wouldn't get out of the way,
- And upsetting a stall
- Near Exeter Hall,
- Which made all the pious Church-mission folks squall;
- But eastward afar,
- Through Temple Bar,
- My Lord Tomnoddy directs his car;
- Never heeding their squalls,
- Or their calls, or their bawls,
- He passes by Waithman's Emporium for shawls,
- And, merely just catching a glimpse of St. Paul's,
- Turns down the Old Bailey,
- Where in front of the gaol, he
- Pulls up at the door of the gin-shop, and gaily
- Cries, "What must I fork out to-night, my trump,
- For the whole first-floor of the Magpie and stump?"
-
- * * *
-
- The clock strikes twelve--it is dark midnight--
- Yet the Magpie and Stump is one blaze of light.
- The parties are met;
- The tables are set;
- There is "punch," "cold without,"
"hot within," "heavy wet,"
- Ale-glasses and jugs,
- And rummers and mugs,
- And sand on the floor, without carpets or rugs,
- Cold fowl and cigars,
- Pickled onions in jars,
- Welsh rabbits and kidneys--rare work for the jaws,--
- And very large lobsters, with very large claws;
- And there is M'Fuze,
- And Lieutenant Tregooze,
- And there is sir Carnaby Jenks, of the Blues,
- All come to see a man "die in his shoes!"
- The clock strikes One!
- Supper is done,
- And Sir Carnaby Jenks is full of his fun,
- Singing "Jolly companions every one!"
- My Lord Tomnoddy
- Is drinking gin-toddy,
- And laughing at every thing, and every body.
-
- The clock strikes Two! and the clock strikes Three!
- --"Who so merry, so merry as we?"
- Save Captain M'Fuze,
- Who is taking a snooze,
- While Sir Carnaby Jenks is busy at work,
- Blacking his nose with a piece of burnt cork.
- The clock strikes Four!
- Round the debtor's door
- Are gathered a couple of thousand or more;
- As many await
- At the press-yard gate,
- Till slowly its folding doors open, and straight
- The mob divides, and between their ranks
- A wagon comes loaded with posts and with planks.
- The clock strikes Five!
- The Sheriffs arrive,
- And the crowd is so great that the streets seem alive;
- But Sir Carnaby Jenks
- Blinks, and winks,
- A candle burns down in the socket, and sinks.
- Lieutenant Tregooze
- Is dreaming of Jews,
- And acceptances all the bill-brokers refuse;
- My Lord Tomnoddy
- Has drunk all his toddy,
- And just as dawn is beginning to peep,
- The whole of the party are fast asleep.
-
- Sweetly, oh! sweetly, the morning breaks,
- With roseate streaks,
- Like the first faint blush on a maiden's cheeks;
- It seemed that the mild and clear blue sky
- Smiled upon all things far and nigh,
- On all--save the wretch condemned to die.
- Alack! that ever so fair a sun
- As that which its course has now begun,
- Should rise on such a scene of misery--
- Should gild with rays so light and free
- That dismal, dark-frowning gallows-tree!
-
- And hark!--a sound comes, big with fate;
- The clock from St. Sepulchre's tower strikes--Eight!--
- List to that low funereal bell:
- It is tolling, alas! a living man's knell--
- And see,--from forth that opening door
- They come!--He steps that threshold o'er
- Who never shall tread upon threshold more.
- --God! 'tis a fearsome thing to see
- That pale, wan man's mute agony,
- The glare of that wild, despairing eye,
- Now bent on the crowd, now turned to the sky,
- As though 'twere scanning, in doubt and in fear,
- The path of the Spirit's unknown career;
- Those pinioned arms, those hands that ne'er
- Shall be lifted again, not even in prayer;
- That heaving chest!--Enough,--'tis done!
- The bolt has fallen!--the spirit is gone--
- For weal or for woe is known but to One!--
- --Oh! 'twas a fearsome sight!--Ah me!
- A deed to shudder at, not to see.
- Again that clock! 'tis time, 'tis time!
- The hour is past;--with its earliest chime
- The chord is severed, its lifeless clay
- By "dungeon villains" is borne away:
- Nine!--'twas the last concluding stroke!
- And then--my Lord Tomnoddy awoke!
- And Tregooze and Sir Carnaby Jenks arose,
- And Captain M'Fuze, with the black on his nose:
- And they stared at each other, as much as to say
- "Hollo! Hollo!
- Here's a rum Go!
- Why, Captain!--my Lord!--Here's the devil to pay!
- The fellow's been cut down and taken away!--
- What's to be done?
- We've missed all the fun!--
- Why they'll laugh at and quiz us all over the town!"
-
- What was to be done?--'twas perfectly plain
- That they could not well hang the man over again.
- What was to be done!--The man was dead!
- Nought could be done--nought could be said;
- So--my Lord Tomnoddy went home to bed!
"My Lord Tomnoddy" is
reprinted from One Hundred Choice Selections. Ed. Phineas
Garrett. Philadelphia: Penn Publishing Co., 1897. |
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POEMS BY R.H. BARHAM |
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