Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, FUGITIVE LINES ON PAWNING MY WATCH, by THOMAS HOOD


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

FUGITIVE LINES ON PAWNING MY WATCH, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Farewell then, my golden repeater
Last Line: The cerberus growls for a sop!
Subject(s): Pawnshops; Pawnbrokers


FAREWELL then, my golden repeater,
We're come to my Uncle's old shop;
And hunger won't be a dumb-waiter,
The Cerberus growls for a sop!

To quit thee, my comrade diurnal,
My feelings will certainly scotch;
But oh! there's a riot internal,
And Famine calls out for the Watch!

Oh! hunger's a terrible trial,
I really must have a relief, --
So here goes the plate of your dial
To fetch me some Williams's beef!

As famish'd as any lost seaman,
I've fasted for many a dawn,
And now must play chess with the Demon,
And give it a check with a pawn.

I've fasted, since dining at Buncle's,
Two days with true Perceval zeal --
And now must make up at my Uncle's,
By getting a duplicate meal.

No Peachum it is, or young Lockit,
That rifles my fob with a snatch;
Alas! I must pick my own pocket,
And make gravy-soup of my watch!

So long I have wander'd a starver,
I'm getting as keen as a hawk;
Time's long hand must take up a carver,
His short hand lay hold of a fork.

Right heavy and sad the event is,
But oh! it is Poverty's crime;
I've been such a Brownrigg's Apprentice.
I thus must be "out of my Time."

Alas! when in Brook Street the Upper,
In comfort I lived between walls,
I've gone to a dance for my supper;
And now I must go to Three Balls!

Folks talk about dressing for dinner,
But I have for dinner undrest;
Since Christmas, as I am a sinner,
I've eaten a suit of my best.

I haven't a rag or a mummock
To fetch me a chop or a steak;
I wish that the coats of my stomach
Were such as my uncle would take!

When dishes were ready with garnish
My watch used to warn with a chime --
But now my repeater must furnish
The dinner in lieu of the time!

My craving will have no denials,
I can't fob it off, if you stay,
So go, -- and the old Seven Dials
Must tell me the time of the day.

Your chimes I shall never more hear 'em,
To part is a Tic Douloureux!
But Tempus has his edax rerum,
And I have my Feeding-Time too!

Farewell then, my golden repeater,
We're come to my Uncle's old shop --
And Hunger won't be a dumb-waiter,
The Cerberus growls for a sop!





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