Poem by William Harrison Ainsworth

Carrion Crow

The Carrion Crow is a sexton bold, 
He raketh the dead from out the mould; 
He delveth the ground like a miser old, 
Stealthily hiding his store of gold.
				Caw! Caw!

The Carrion Crow hath a coat of black,
Silky and sleek like a priest’s to his hack;
Like a lawyer he grubbeth – no matter what way –
The fouler the offal, the richer his prey.
				Caw! Caw! the Carrion Crow!
				Dig! Dig! in the ground below!
 
The Carrion Crow hath a dainty maw, 
With savory pickings he crammeth his craw; 
Kept meat from the gibbet it pleaseth his whim. 
It never can hang too long for him!
				Caw! Caw!

The Carrion Crow smelleth powder, ’tis said, 
Like a soldier escheweth the taste of cold lead; 
No jester, or mime, hath more marvellous wit, 
For, wherever he lighteth, he maketh a hit!
				Caw! Caw! the Carrion Crow!
				Dig! Dig! in the ground below!

1. One Foot in the Stirrup, or Turpin's First Fling
2. The Game of High Toby
3. The Modern Greek
4. The Legend of Valdez
5. The Soul-Bell

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