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!