So Phoebe screamed an awful scream To prove the seaman's text, That after black appearances, White squalls will follow next.

"O Phoebe dear! Oh, Phoebe dear!

Don't go and scream or faint; You think because I'm black, I am The Devil, but I ain't!

Behind the heels of Lady Lambe I walked while I had breath, But that is past, and I am now A-walking after death!

"No murder, though, I come to tell, By base and b.l.o.o.d.y crime; So, Phoebe dear, put off your fits To some more fitting time.

No coroner, like a boatswain's mate, My body need attack, With his round dozen to find out Why I have died so black.

"One Sunday, shortly after tea, My skin began to burn, As if I had in my inside A heater like a urn.

Delirious in the night I grew, And as I lay in bed, They say I gathered all the wool You see upon my head.

"His lordship for his doctor sent, My treatment to begin; I wish that he had called him out Before he called him in!

For though to physic he was bred, And pa.s.sed at Surgeons' Hall, To make his post a sinecure, He never cured at all!

"The Doctor looked about my breast And then about my back, And then he shook his head and said, 'Your case looks very black.'

At first he sent me hot cayenne, And then gamboge to swallow.

But still my fever would not turn To scarlet or to yellow!

"With madder and with turmeric, He made his next attack; But neither he nor all his drugs Could stop my dying black.

At last I got so sick of life, And sick of being dosed, One Monday morning I gave up My physic and the ghost!

"Oh, Phoebe dear, what pain it was To sever every tie!

You know black beetles feel as much As giants when they die.

And if there is a bridal bed, Or bride of little worth, It's lying in a bed of mould, Along with Mother Earth.

"Alas! Some happy, happy day, In church I hoped to stand, And like a m.u.f.f of sable skin Receive your lily hand.

But sternly with that piebald match, My fate untimely clashes; For now, like Pompey-double-i, I'm sleeping in my ashes!

"And now farewell! a last farewell!

I'm wanted down below, And have but time enough to add One word before I go-- In mourning crepe and bombazine Ne'er spend your precious pelf; Don't go in black for me--for I Can do it for myself.

"Henceforth within my grave I rest, But Death, who there inherits, Allowed my spirit leave to come, You seemed so near your spirits: But do not sigh, and do not cry, By grief too much engrossed, Nor for a ghost of color turn The color of a ghost!

"Again, farewell, my Phoebe dear!

Once more a last adieu!

For I must make myself as scarce As swans of sable hue."

From black to gray, from gray to nought The shape began to fade-- And like an egg, though not so white, The ghost was newly laid!"

THE GHOST: THOMAS HOOD

_A Very Serious Ballad_

In Middle Row, some years ago, There lived one Mr. Brown; And many folks considered him The stoutest man in town.

But Brown and stout will both wear out-- One Friday he died hard, And left a widow'd wife to mourn At twenty pence a yard.

Now widow B. in two short months Thought mourning quite a tax; And wished, like Mr. Wilberforce, To _manumit_ her blacks.

With Mr. Street she soon was sweet; The thing came thus about: She asked him in at home, and then At church, he asked her out!

a.s.surance such as this the man In ashes could not stand; So like a Phoenix he rose up Against the Hand in Hand!

One dreary night the angry sprite Appeared before her view; It came a little after one, But she was after two!

"Oh, Mrs. B., O Mrs. B., Are these your sorrow's deeds, Already getting up a flame To burn your widows' weeds?

"It's not so long since I have left For aye the mortal scene; My memory--like Rogers's-- Should still be bound in green!

"Yet if my face you still retrace I almost have a doubt-- I'm like an old Forget-Me-Not With all the leaves torn out!

"To think that on that finger-joint Another pledge should cling; O Bess! upon my very soul It struck like 'Knock and Ring.'

"A ton of marble on my breast Can't hinder my return; Your conduct, ma'am, has set my blood A-boiling in its urn!

"Remember, oh, remember how The marriage rite did run,-- If ever we one flesh should be 'Tis now--when I have none!

"And you, Sir--once a bosom friend-- Of perjured faith convict, As ghostly toe can give no blow, Consider yourself kicked.

"A hollow voice is all I have, But this I tell you plain, Marry come up! you marry, ma'am, And I'll come up again."

More he had said, but chanticleer The spritely shade did shock With sudden crow--and off he went Like fowling piece at c.o.c.k!

MARY'S GHOST: THOMAS HOOD

_A Pathetic Ballad_

'Twas in the middle of the night, To sleep young William tried, When Mary's ghost came stealing in, And stood at his bedside.

"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 didn't stay long in it.

"The body-s.n.a.t.c.hers they have come And made a s.n.a.t.c.h 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 boned your Mary.

"The arm that used to take your arm Is took to Doctor Vyse; And both my legs are gone to walk The hospital at Guy's.

"I vowed 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 find 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 packed up To go by Pickford's van.

"I wish 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.