What a Commotion in the Town!
Now has the Steeple fallen down?
Some strange Event occurr'd?
Fresh Tidings of the War in France,
Or News of dire Import, perchance,
The Mayor may have heard.
See how the People run and point!
The Butcher, laden with a Joint,
Is brandishing his Knife;
The Chandler, with a Pot of Lard,
In tumbling from the Farrier's Yard,
Upsets the Baker's Wife.
The Parson hurries up the Street,
His Shoes half on, half off his Feet,
His Surplice flies behind,
And knocking 'gainst the Apple Stall,
Of Widow Clarke, the Apples fall,
He does not seem to mind!
Here comes the Guardian of the Laws!
Pray, tell us, Officer, the Cause
Of this tumultuous Scene?
Why, I declare, the Reason's found,
'Tis Master Percy, I'll be bound,
At Mischief who has been.
How say you? that an Hour too Fast
He set the Town Hall Clock; and last,
On further Mischief bent,
Upon the Belfry Tower he climbed
And all the Bells he loudly chimed
Confusion to augment.
But Retribution's fatal Sword
No long Delay will e'er afford
And soon did Percy smite.
His Footing slipp'd, some Time he hung
To treach'rous Roofs, but vainly clung
And fell a giddy Height.
And now upon a Couch of Pain
He lies with shattered Bones and Brain;
But, Pity tho' we feel,
We all should strive to realise
That those whose Actions are not Wise
From Fate have no Appeal.
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