As ever upset a friendship—­or skiff! 
The plighted lovers, who used to walk,
Refused to meet, and declined to talk;
And wish’d for two moons to reflect the sun,
That they mightn’t look together on one;
While wedded affection ran so low,
That the oldest John Anderson snubbed his Jo—­
And instead of the toddle adown the hill,
     Hand in hand,
     As the song has planned,
Scratch’d her, penniless, out of his will!

In short, to describe what came to pass
  In a true, though somewhat theatrical way,
Instead of “Love in a Village”—­alas! 
  The piece they perform’d was “The Devil to Pay!”
However, as secrets are brought to light,
And mischief comes home like chickens at night;
And rivers are track’d throughout their course,
And forgeries traced to their proper source;—­
     And the sow that ought
     By the ear is caught,—­
And the sin to the sinful door is brought;
And the cat at last escapes from the bag—­
And the saddle is placed on the proper nag;
And the fog blows off, and the key is found—­
And the faulty scent is pick’d out by the hound—­
And the fact turns up like a worm from the ground—­
And the matter gets wind to waft it about;
And a hint goes abroad, and the murder is out—­
And the riddle is guess’d—­and the puzzle is known—­
So the truth was sniff’d, and the Trumpet was blown!

* * * * *

’Tis a day in November—­a day of fog—­
But the Tringham people are all agog;
  Fathers, Mothers, and Mother’s Sons,—­
  With sticks, and staves, and swords, and guns,—­
As if in pursuit of a rabid dog;
But their voices—­raised to the highest pitch—­
Declare that the game is “a Witch!—­a Witch!”

Over the Green, and along by The George—­
Past the Stocks, and the Church, and the Forge,
And round the Pound, and skirting the Pond,
Till they come to the whitewash’d cottage beyond,
And there at the door they muster and cluster,
And thump, and kick, and bellow, and bluster—­
Enough to put Old Nick in a fluster! 
A noise, indeed, so loud and long,
And mix’d with expressions so very strong,
That supposing, according to popular fame,
“Wise Woman” and Witch to be the same,
No hag with a broom would unwisely stop,
But up and away through the chimney-top;
Whereas, the moment they burst the door,
Planted fast on her sanded floor,
With her Trumpet up to her organ of hearing,
Lo and behold!—­Dame Eleanor Spearing!

Oh! then arises the fearful shout—­
Bawl’d and scream’d, and bandied about—­
“Seize her!—­Drag the old Jezebel out!”
While the Beadle—­the foremost of all the band,
Snatches the Horn from her trembling hand—­
And after a pause of doubt and fear,
Puts it up to his sharpest ear.

“Now silence—­silence—­one and all!”
For the Clerk is quoting from Holy Paul! 
    But before he rehearses
    A couple of verses,
The Beadle lets the Trumpet fall: 
For instead of the words so pious and humble,
He hears a supernatural grumble.