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GOING TO BE HANGED.
As clever Tom Clinch, while the rabble was bawling, Rode stately through Holborn to die in his calling, He stopt at the George for a bottle of sack, And promised to pay for it when he came back. His waistcoat, and stockings, and breeches, were white; His cap had a new cherry ribbon to tie't. The maids to the doors and the balconies ran, And said, "Lack-a-day, he's a proper young man!" But, as from the windows the ladies he spied, Like a beau in the box, he bow'd low on each side! And when his last speech the loud hawkers did cry, He swore from his cart, "It was all a damn'd lie!" The hangman for pardon fell down on his knee; Tom gave him a kick in the guts for his fee: Then said, I must speak to the people a little; But I'll see you all damn'd before I will whittle. My honest friend Wild (may he long hold his place) He lengthen'd my life with a whole year of grace. Take courage, dear comrades, and be not afraid, Nor slip this occasion to follow your trade; My conscience is clear, and my spirits are calm, And thus I go off, without prayer-book or psalm; Then follow the practice of clever Tom Clinch, Who hung like a hero, and never would flinch.
[Footnote 1: A cant word for confessing at the gallows.--F.]
[Footnote 2: The noted thief-catcher, under-keeper of Newgate, who was the head of a gang of thieves, and was at last hanged as a receiver of stolen goods. See Fielding's "Life of Jonathan Wild."--W. E. B.]
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