The Surgeon's Warning.

The subject of this parody was given me by a friend, to whom also I am indebted for some of the stanzas.     Respecting the patent coffins herein mentioned, after the manner of Catholic Poets, who confess the actions they attribute to their Saints and Deity to be but fiction, I hereby declare that it is by no means my design to depreciate that useful invention; and all persons to whom this Ballad shall come are requested to take notice, that nothing here asserted concerning the aforesaid Coffins is true, except that the maker and patentee lives by St. Martin's Lane.     THE SURGEONS' WARNING.     The Doctor whispered to the Nurse         And the Surgeon knew what he said,     And he grew pale at the Doctor's tale         And trembled in his sick bed.     Now fetch me my brethren and fetch them with speed         The Surgeon affrighted said,     The Parson and the Undertaker,         Let them hasten or I shall be dead.     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 entered 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 to the Devil,         For God's sake my brethren dear.     He foam'd at the mouth with the rage he felt         And he wrinkled his black eye-brow,     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 the judgment now must be--     But brothers I took care of you,         So pray take care of me!     I have made candles of infants 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 intreat,     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 labour 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 blunder-buss         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         Distorted every limb.     They put him in lead when he was dead         And shrouded up so neat,     And they the leaden coffin weigh         Lest the Plumber should be a cheat.     They had it solder'd closely down         And examined 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 labour 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 lanthorn light         Thro' the church-yard as they went,     A guinea of gold the sexton shewed         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.     The second night by lanthorn light         Thro' the church-yard as they went,     He whisper'd anew and shew'd them two         That Mister Joseph sent.     The guineas were bright and attracted their sight         They look'd so heavy and new,     And their fingers itch'd as they were bewitch'd         And they knew not what to do.     But they waver'd not long for conscience was strong         And they thought they might get more,     And they refused the gold, but not         So rudely as before.     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.     The third night as by lanthorn light         Thro' the church-yard they went,     He bade them see and shew'd them three         That Mister Joseph sent.     They look'd askance with eager glance,         The guineas they shone bright,     For the Sexton on the yellow gold         Let fall his lanthorn light.     And he look'd sly with his roguish eye         And gave a well-tim'd wink,     And they could not stand the sound in his hand         For he made the guineas chink.     And conscience late that had such weight,         All in a moment fails,     For well they knew that it was true         A dead man told no tales,     And they gave all their powder and ball         And took the gold so bright,     And they drank their beer and made good cheer,         Till now it was midnight.     Then, tho' the key of the church door         Was left with the Parson his brother,     It opened at the Sexton's touch--         Because he had another.     And in they go with that villain Joe         To fetch the body by night,     And all the church look'd dismally         By his dark lanthorn light.     They laid the pick-axe to the stones         And they moved them soon asunder.     They shovell'd away the hard-prest clay         And came to the coffin under.     They burst the patent coffin first         And they cut thro' the lead,     And they laugh'd aloud when they saw the shroud         Because they had got at the dead.     And they allowed the Sexton the shroud         And they put the coffin back,     And nose and knees they then did squeeze         The Surgeon in a sack.     The watchmen as they past along         Full four yards off could smell,     And a curse bestowed upon the load         So disagreeable.     So they carried the sack a-pick-a-back         And they carv'd him bone from bone,     But what became of the Surgeon's soul         Was never to mortal known.