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 QQQWWRRNNR W WWWRRPPPN RRRPPPW NNNNNNPPUUQQ Q QQQQ NNQQPPRRQQQR PPQQD2D2D2WWPPPW RRQQQQYYYP NN RR QQQE2E2QQQQQQNNNNN YYF2F2 P Q P G2P PP R NNNWRFytte 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 all the King's men ' | - |
With Old Nick for a waggoner drive one up 'Pen ' | - |
- | |
Pryce usually brimful of valour when drunk | W |
Now experienced what schoolboys denominate 'funk ' | - |
In vain he look'd back | W |
On the whole of the track | W |
He had traversed a thick cloud uncommonly black | W |
At this moment obscured the broad disc of the moon | R |
And did not seem likely to pass away soon | R |
While clearer and clearer | P |
'Twas plain to the hearer | P |
Be the noise what it might it drew nearer and nearer | P |
And sounded as Pryce to this moment declares | N |
Very much 'like a Coffin a walking up stairs ' | - |
- | |
Mr Pryce had begun | R |
To 'make up' for a run | R |
As in such a companion he saw no great fun | R |
When a single bright ray | P |
Shone out on the way | P |
He had pass'd and he saw with no little dismay | P |
Coming after him bounding o'er crag and o'er rock | W |
The deceased Mrs Winifred's 'Grandmother's Clock ' | - |
'Twas so it had certainly moved from its place | N |
And come lumbering on thus to hold him in chase | N |
'Twas the very same Head and the very same Case | N |
And nothing was alter'd at all but the Face | N |
In that he perceived with no little surprise | N |
The two little winder holes turn'd into eyes | N |
Blazing with ire | P |
Like two coals of fire | P |
And the 'Name of the Maker' was changed to a Lip | U |
And the Hands to a Nose with a very red tip | U |
No he could not mistake it ' twas She to the life | Q |
The identical Face of his poor defunct Wife | Q |
- | |
One glance was enough | Q |
Completely 'Quant suff ' | - |
As the doctors write down when they send you their 'stuff ' | - |
Like a Weather cock whirl'd by a vehement puff | Q |
David turn'd himself round | Q |
Ten feet of ground | Q |
He clear'd in his start at the very first bound | Q |
- | |
I've seen people run at West End Fair for cheeses | N |
I've seen Ladies run at Bow Fair for chemises | N |
At Greenwich Fair twenty men run for a hat | Q |
And one from a Bailiff much faster than that | Q |
At foot ball I've seen lads run after the bladder | P |
I've seen Irish Bricklayers run up a ladder | P |
I've seen little boys run away from a cane | R |
And I've seen that is read of good running in Spain | R |
But I never did read | Q |
Of or witness such speed | Q |
As David exerted that evening Indeed | Q |
All I ever have heard of boys women or men | R |
Falls far short of Pryce as he ran over 'Pen ' | - |
- | |
He reaches its brow | P |
He has past it and now | P |
Having once gain'd the summit and managed to cross it he | Q |
Rolls down the side with uncommon velocity | Q |
But run as he will | D2 |
Or roll down the hill | D2 |
That bugbear behind him is after him still | D2 |
And close at his heels not at all to his liking | W |
The terrible Clock keeps on ticking and striking | W |
Till exhausted and sore | P |
He can't run any more | P |
But falls as he reaches Miss Davis's door | P |
And screams when they rush out alarm'd at his knock | W |
'Oh Look at the Clock Do Look at the Clock ' | - |
- | |
Miss Davis look'd up Miss Davis look'd down | R |
She saw nothing there to alarm her a frown | R |
Came o'er her white forehead | Q |
She said 'It was horrid | Q |
A man should come knocking at that time of night | Q |
And give her Mamma and herself such a fright | Q |
To squall and to bawl | Y |
About nothing at all | Y |
She begg'd 'he'd not think of repeating his call | Y |
His late wife's disaster | P |
By no means had past her ' | - |
She'd 'have him to know she was meat for his Master ' | - |
Then regardless alike of his love and his woes | N |
She turn'd on her heel and she turned up her nose | N |
- | |
Poor David in vain | R |
Implored to remain | R |
He 'dared not ' he said 'cross the mountain again ' | - |
Why the fair was obdurate | Q |
None knows to be sure it | Q |
Was said she was setting her cap at the Curate | Q |
Be that as it may it is certain the sole hole | E2 |
Pryce could find to creep into that night was the Coal hole | E2 |
In that shady retreat | Q |
With nothing to eat | Q |
And with very bruised limbs and with very sore feet | Q |
All night close he kept | Q |
I can't say he slept | Q |
But he sigh'd and he sobb'd and he groan'd and he wept | Q |
Lamenting his sins | N |
And his two broken shins | N |
Bewailing his fate with contortions and grins | N |
And her he once thought a complete Rara Avis | N |
Consigning to Satan viz cruel Miss Davis | N |
- | |
Mr David has since had a 'serious call ' | - |
He never drinks ale wine or spirits at all | Y |
And they say he is going to Exeter Hall | Y |
To make a grand speech | F2 |
And to preach and to teach | F2 |
People that 'they can't brew their malt liquor too small ' | - |
That an ancient Welsh Poet one Pyndar ap Tudor | P |
Was right in proclaiming 'Ariston men Udor ' | - |
Which means 'The pure Element | Q |
Is for the belly meant ' | - |
And that Gin's but a Snare of Old Nick the deluder | P |
- | |
And 'still on each evening when pleasure fills up ' | - |
At the old Goat in Boots with Metheglin each cup | G2 |
Mr Pryce if he's there | P |
Will get into 'the Chair ' | - |
- | |
And make all his quondam associates stare | P |
By calling aloud to the landlady's daughter | P |
'Patty bring a cigar and a glass of Spring Water ' | - |
- | |
The dial he constantly watches and when | R |
The long hand's at the 'XII ' and the short at the 'X ' | - |
He gets on his legs | N |
Drains his glass to the dregs | N |
Takes his hat and great coat off their several pegs | N |
With his President's hammer bestows his last knock | W |
And says solemnly 'Gentlemen | R |
'Look at the Clock ' | - |
Richard Harris Barham
(1)
Poem topics: , Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
Write your comment about Look At The Clock!: Patty Morgan The Milkmaid's Story poem by Richard Harris Barham
Best Poems of Richard Harris Barham