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Classic and Contemporary Poetry


ENIGMA-TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE LAMENTED MR. JOHN KENCHINOW, BUTCHER. by JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN

First Line: COME, GET THE BLACK, THE MOURNING PALL
Last Line: MUST FEEL FOR JOHNNY KENCHINOW

Come get the black, the mourning pall,
The reason I will mention now,
And with it, blockheads, bards, and all,
Assist to cover Dia's hall
For the loss of Johnny Kenchinow.
And is he gone? cry one and all.
To keep you in suspension now
Is not my wish-yes, at the call
Of death was lately doomed to fall
Lamented Johnny Kenchinow,
If anyone refuse to yawl,
Ye bards, I will convince you now,
That, though at first a stubborn Saul
Ye be, ere long repentant Paul
Shall weep for Johnny Kenchinow.
Alas! this world's a slippery ball;
And do I reprehension now
Deserve for saying that a straw'll
At times compel a man to sprawl
Like peerless Johnny Kenchinow.
Messina's cobbler, him of Gaul
Nay, he whose home Valentia now
Is-never pierced with shining awl
A shoe more sure than Death's sharp claw'll
Pierce us like Johnny Keuchinow.
Great man! to see thy empty stall-
A stall there' not a bench in now
Unnerves me quite. I scarce can scrawl
A word; while tears more sour than gall
Flow for thee, Johnny Kenchinow.
What though thy legs were strong and tall,
Them is the wet clay drenching now;
And eke those hands, so wont to haul
The mutton from the well filled wall
By thee built, Johnny Kenchinow.
Thy widow's purse, of course, is small;
So may the State a pension now
Allow her, as a threadbare shawl
And sieve-like shoes for respite call
In vain from Johnny Kenchinow.
Her name likewise no man dare maul;
She is an upright wench (and now
I talk of wenches) none could squall
So loud by half, or rather bawl,
At the wake of Johnny Kenchinow.
But Judy's praises here to drawl
Is none of my intention now-
In sooth, 'twere needless, and withal
My muse is ill-disposed to brawl
For aught save Johnny Kenchinow.
Ye far-famed wits whom rhymes enthrall,
I pray you pay attention now:
Say, will you come?
Oh, yes! you shall
To view the worms that slowly crawl
O'er the head of Johnny Kenchinow.
And if the sight your souls appal,
Pray tell me what must fence you now
Against that grief which doubtless all
Who view this woe-creating scrawl
Must feel for Johnny Kenchinow?




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