'look At The Clock!' : Patty Morgan The Milkmaid's Story Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: A BCBCDDDEEEC FFGGHHIIJJ BBBKKLLLMMDD NNNNNNNNNN O D PPCC QQRRSSTT TTTUUURVVNNC TTWWTTTTTTTRRRRRR QQQQQXXN QQ WW WWY NN NT NNQQQ QQQ WWWQQQZZ RRA2A2R QQQQQQXB2XQQQA2A2A2 RRRQQQQQQQQNNQC2C2XX WW PPPNNQQQ QQQWWRRNNRQ| FYTTE I | A |
| - | |
| 'Look at the Clock ' quoth Winifred Pryce | B |
| As she open'd the door to her husband's knock | C |
| Then paus'd to give him a piece of advice | B |
| 'You nasty Warmint look at the Clock | C |
| Is this the way you | D |
| Wretch every day you | D |
| Treat her who vow'd to love and obey you | D |
| Out all night | E |
| Me in a fright | E |
| Staggering home as it's just getting light | E |
| You intoxified brute you insensible block | C |
| Look at the Clock Do Look at the Clock ' | - |
| - | |
| Winifred Pryce was tidy and clean | F |
| Her gown was a flower'd one her petticoat green | F |
| Her buckles were bright as her milking cans | G |
| And her hat was a beaver and made like a man's | G |
| Her little red eyes were deep set in their socket holes | H |
| Her gown tail was turn'd up and tuck'd through the pocket holes | H |
| A face like a ferret | I |
| Betoken'd her spirit | I |
| To conclude Mrs Pryce was not over young | J |
| Had very short legs and a very long tongue | J |
| - | |
| Now David Pryce | B |
| Had one darling vice | B |
| Remarkably partial to anything nice | B |
| Nought that was good to him came amiss | K |
| Whether to eat or to drink or to kiss | K |
| Especially ale | L |
| If it was not too stale | L |
| I really believe he'd have emptied a pail | L |
| Not that in Wales | M |
| They talk of their Ales | M |
| To pronounce the word they make use of might trouble you | D |
| Being spelt with a C two Rs and a W | D |
| - | |
| That particular day | N |
| As I've heard people say | N |
| Mr David Pryce had been soaking his clay | N |
| And amusing himself with his pipe and cheroots | N |
| The whole afternoon at the Goat in Boots | N |
| With a couple more soakers | N |
| Thoroughbred smokers | N |
| Both like himself prime singers and jokers | N |
| And long after day had drawn to a close | N |
| And the rest of the world was wrapp'd in repose | N |
| They were roaring out 'Shenkin ' and 'Ar hydd y nos ' | - |
| While David himself to a Sassenach tune | O |
| Sang 'We've drunk down the Sun boys let's drink down the Moon ' | - |
| What have we with day to do | D |
| Mrs Winifred Pryce 'twas made for you ' | - |
| At length when they couldn't well drink any more | P |
| Old 'Goat in Boots' show'd them the door | P |
| And then came that knock | C |
| And the sensible shock | C |
| David felt when his wife cried 'Look at the Clock ' | - |
| - | |
| For the hands stood as crooked as crooked might be | Q |
| The long at the Twelve and the short at the Three | Q |
| This self same Clock had long been a bone | R |
| Of contention between this Darby and Joan | R |
| And often among their pother and rout | S |
| When this otherwise amiable couple fell out | S |
| Pryce would drop a cool hint | T |
| With an ominous squint | T |
| At its case of an 'Uncle' of his who'd a 'Spout ' | - |
| That horrid word 'Spout' | T |
| No sooner came out | T |
| Than Winifred Pryce would turn her about | T |
| And with scorn on her lip | U |
| And a hand on each hip | U |
| 'Spout' herself till her nose grew red at the tip | U |
| 'You thundering willain | R |
| I know you'd be killing | V |
| Your wife ay a dozen of wives for a shilling | V |
| You may do what you please | N |
| You may sell my chemise | N |
| Mrs P was too well bred to mention her stock | C |
| But I never will part with my Grandmother's Clock ' | - |
| - | |
| Mrs Pryce's tongue ran long and ran fast | T |
| But patience is apt to wear out at last | T |
| And David Pryce in temper was quick | W |
| So he stretch'd out his hand and caught hold of a stick | W |
| Perhaps in its use he might mean to be lenient | T |
| But walking just then wasn't very convenient | T |
| So he threw it instead | T |
| Direct at her head | T |
| It knock'd off her hat | T |
| Down she fell flat | T |
| Her case perhaps was not much mended by that | T |
| But whatever it was whether rage and pain | R |
| Produced apoplexy or burst a vein | R |
| Or her tumble induced a concussion of brain | R |
| I can't say for certain but this I can | R |
| When sober'd by fright to assist her he ran | R |
| Mrs Winifred Pryce was as dead as Queen Anne | R |
| - | |
| The fearful catastrophe | Q |
| Named in my last strophe | Q |
| As adding to grim Death's exploits such a vast trophy | Q |
| Soon made a great noise and the shocking fatality | Q |
| Ran over like wild fire the whole Principality | Q |
| And then came Mr Ap Thomas the Coroner | X |
| With his jury to sit some dozen or more on her | X |
| Mr Pryce to commence | N |
| His 'ingenious defence ' | - |
| Made a 'powerful appeal' to the jury's 'good sense ' | - |
| 'The world he must defy | Q |
| Ever to justify | Q |
| Any presumption of 'Malice Prepense ' | - |
| The unlucky lick | W |
| From the end of his stick | W |
| He 'deplored ' he was 'apt to be rather too quick ' | - |
| But really her prating | W |
| Was so aggravating | W |
| Some trifling correction was just what he meant all | Y |
| The rest he assured them was 'quite accidental ' | - |
| - | |
| Then he called Mr Jones | N |
| Who deposed to her tones | N |
| And her gestures and hints about 'breaking his bones ' | - |
| While Mr Ap Morgan and Mr Ap Rhys | N |
| Declared the Deceased | T |
| Had styled him 'a Beast ' | - |
| And swore they had witness'd with grief and surprise | N |
| The allusions she made to his limbs and his eyes | N |
| The jury in fine having sat on the body | Q |
| The whole day discussing the case and gin toddy | Q |
| Return'd about half past eleven at night | Q |
| The following verdict 'We find Sarve her right ' | - |
| Mr Pryce Mrs Winifred Pryce being dead | Q |
| Felt lonely and moped and one evening he said | Q |
| He would marry Miss Davis at once in her stead | Q |
| - | |
| Not far from his dwelling | W |
| From the vale proudly swelling | W |
| Rose a mountain it's name you'll excuse me from telling | W |
| For the vowels made use of in Welsh are so few | Q |
| That the A and the E the I O and the U | Q |
| Have really but little or nothing to do | Q |
| And the duty of course falls the heavier by far | Z |
| On the L and the H and the N and the R | Z |
| Its first syllable 'Pen ' | - |
| Is pronounceable then | R |
| Come two L Ls and two H Hs two F Fs and an N | R |
| About half a score Rs and some Ws follow | A2 |
| Beating all my best efforts at euphony hollow | A2 |
| But we shan't have to mention it often so when | R |
| We do with your leave we'll curtail it to 'Pen ' | - |
| - | |
| Well the moon shone bright | Q |
| Upon 'Pen' that night | Q |
| When Pryce being quit of his fuss and his fright | Q |
| Was scaling its side | Q |
| With that sort of stride | Q |
| A man puts out when walking in search of a bride | Q |
| Mounting higher and higher | X |
| He began to perspire | B2 |
| Till finding his legs were beginning to tire | X |
| And feeling opprest | Q |
| By a pain in his chest | Q |
| He paused and turn'd round to take breath and to rest | Q |
| A walk all up hill is apt we know | A2 |
| To make one however robust puff and blow | A2 |
| So he stopp'd and look'd down on the valley below | A2 |
| - | |
| O'er fell and o'er fen | R |
| Over mountain and glen | R |
| All bright in the moonshine his eye roved and then | R |
| All the Patriot rose in his soul and he thought | Q |
| Of Wales and her glories and all he'd been taught | Q |
| Of her Heroes of old | Q |
| So brave and so bold | Q |
| Of her Bards with long beards and harps mounted in gold | Q |
| Of King Edward the First | Q |
| Of memory accurst | Q |
| And the scandalous manner in which he behaved | Q |
| Killing Poets by dozens | N |
| With their uncles and cousins | N |
| Of whom not one in fifty had ever been shaved | Q |
| Of the Court Ball at which by a lucky mishap | C2 |
| Owen Tudor fell into Queen Katherine's lap | C2 |
| And how Mr Tudor | X |
| Successfully woo'd her | X |
| Till the Dowager put on a new wedding ring | W |
| And so made him Father in law to the King | W |
| - | |
| He thought upon Arthur and Merlin of yore | P |
| On Gryffth ap Conan and Owen Glendour | P |
| On Pendragon and Heaven knows how many more | P |
| He thought of all this as he gazed in a trice | N |
| And on all things in short but the late Mrs Pryce | N |
| When a lumbering noise from behind made him start | Q |
| And sent the blood back in full tide to his heart | Q |
| Which went pit a pat | Q |
| As he cried out 'What's that ' | - |
| That very queer sound | Q |
| Does it come from the ground | Q |
| Or the air from above or below or around | Q |
| It is not like Talking | W |
| It is not like Walking | W |
| It's not like the clattering of pot or of pan | R |
| Or the tramp of a horse or the tread of a man | R |
| Or the hum of a crowd or the shouting of boys | N |
| It's really a deuced odd sort of a noise | N |
| Not unlike a Cart's but that can't be for when | R |
| Could 'all the King's horses and | Q |
Richard Harris Barham
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'look At The Clock!' : Patty Morgan The Milkmaid's Story is a poem by Richard Harris Barham. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.
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