A
PARODY
ON
“MARY’s GHOST;”
OR,
The Doctors
AND
BODY-SNATCHERS.
A
Pathetic Tale,
WITH
Numerous Additions
NORWICH;
Printed by Christopher Berry, Chettleburgh’s Court, Rampant
Horse Street, St. Stephen’s.
A PARODY
ON
“MARY’S GHOST.”
“’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 though I went to my _long_ home,
I did not 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 to the eye;
With roses growing o’er my grave,
In _Dr-mm-nd’s Rosary_.
But William dear, my rest was short,
It was not very chary;
Them boney-men, they did march in,
And bone away your Mary.
I wish you’d speak to Mr. D.
Who owes the _patent_ ground;
And tell him that his _patent_ graves,
Are neither safe nor sound.
I vow that his _new_ land-of-tombs,
Made so genteel and pretty;
Is not a bit more safer than,
_Old_ Tombland in the City.
Alas! it is a joint-stock-thing,
The shares are down so _low_;
E’re long they’ll break up all the _banks_,
Of _Dr-mm-nd, Son & Co._
My tender body was pack’d-up,
And in a sack did go;
To be a _little_ body at,
_Sir Dalley’s_ great depôt.
I was cut up as _Stratford_ was,
And _Y-ll-ly_ from Carrow;
Came stealing in--and stole away,
My brains and spinal-marrow.
I vow’d that you should have my hand,
But fate gives us denial;
You’ll find it there at Doctor _Wr-ght’s_,
In spirits and a phial.
How very hard my William dear,--
How very hard the loss is;
That both my legs should have to walk,
The Surgery at _Cr-ss’s_.
And that my arms,--the tender arms,
That now in death do part us;
Should both of them be taken down,
To dwell at Doctor _C-rt-r’s_.
As for my eyes,--the lovely eyes,
That once beam’d from their sockets;
You’ll find them both at Mr. _H-ll’s_,
In his _large_ breeches-pockets.
My very skull was lent to _St-rk_,
Without any apology;
And all my lumps and bumps he found,
That are in Craniology.
But when my skull came back from St-rk,
That clever _organ-finder_;
It was found out that _Cr-wc--r_ had,
Pluck’d out--every grinder.
As for my feet,--the little feet,
You used to call so pretty;
There’s one I know at the _Town-close_,
The t’other’s in the _city_.
The _Pupils_ dear, them sweet young men,
I vow they wrote on vellum;
A letter to the Doctors _big_,
And got my cerebellum.
As for my hair--the auburn hair,
You used to love so well;
Alas! it’s gone to deck the head,
Of _lovely Mrs. B-ll_.
My very liver and my lungs,
E’en them were not forgot;
But given to them cruel men,
_Long J-hns-n_ and _Page Sc-tt_.
I thought I should have lost a rib,
And many other stores;
But Doctor _Ev-ns_ took instead,
A _rib_ from Brazen-doors.
To say where my soft kidneys are,
The _Newspapers_ will tell;
Therefore you need not ring at night,
At “Doctor _Engl-nd’s_ Bell.”
To boil me down--did Doctor _Pure_,
_Affirm_ ’twould be a sin;
And then Old _J-rv-s_ wink’d his eye,
And _swore_ he’d tan my skin.
I can’t tell where my head is gone,
But _M-lls_ and _N-ch-ls_ can;
Also my trunk which is to go,
By _M-n-ym-nt’s_ night-van.
I wish you’d go to Mr. M.
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 be gone!
My William we must part!
But I’ll be yours in death--altho’
_Sweet N-rg-te_ has my heart.”
“Don’t go to weep upon my grave,
And think that there I be;
They hav’n’t left an atom there,
Of my _anatomie_.”
_BERRY, PRINTER, NORWICH_
