THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH AS HE IS
by
Anonymous
[With apologies to Longfellow]

Under the spreading chestnut tree
The village blacksmith stands
The smith an awful cad is he
With very dirty hands
For keepers and the rural police
He doesn’t care a hang
He swears and fights, and whops his wife
Gets drunk whene’er he can
In point of fact, our village smith’s
A very awful man.

He goes on Sundays to the pub
With other festive boys
When drinking beer and goes of rum
His precious time employs
Till he gets drunk, and going home
He makes no end of noise
Then, with his poor half-starving wife
He in a passion flies
He pulls her by the hair, from off
The bed on which she lies
And kicks her round the room, and says
Bad things about her eyes.

Smoking, soaking, bullying
Onward through life he goes
Each morning sees a blackened eye
Or else a broken nose
I fear that within the County Goal
Calcraft* his life will close
Thanks, thanks to thee, thou black blacksmith
For the lessons thou hast taught
By Calcraft, or his deputy
I never will be caught
And to that end I’ll never do
The thing I hadn’t ought.

* Calcraft was the official executioner from 1829 to 1879