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 NNNWR

Fytte IA
-
'Look at the Clock ' quoth Winifred PryceB
As she open'd the door to her husband's knockC
Then paus'd to give him a piece of adviceB
'You nasty Warmint look at the ClockC
Is this the way youD
Wretch every day youD
Treat her who vow'd to love and obey youD
Out all nightE
Me in a frightE
Staggering home as it's just getting lightE
You intoxified brute you insensible blockC
Look at the Clock Do Look at the Clock '-
-
Winifred Pryce was tidy and cleanF
Her gown was a flower'd one her petticoat greenF
Her buckles were bright as her milking cansG
And her hat was a beaver and made like a man'sG
Her little red eyes were deep set in their socket holesH
Her gown tail was turn'd up and tuck'd through the pocket holesH
A face like a ferretI
Betoken'd her spiritI
To conclude Mrs Pryce was not over youngJ
Had very short legs and a very long tongueJ
-
Now David PryceB
Had one darling viceB
Remarkably partial to anything niceB
Nought that was good to him came amissK
Whether to eat or to drink or to kissK
Especially aleL
If it was not too staleL
I really believe he'd have emptied a pailL
Not that in WalesM
They talk of their AlesM
To pronounce the word they make use of might trouble youD
Being spelt with a C two Rs and a WD
-
That particular dayN
As I've heard people sayN
Mr David Pryce had been soaking his clayN
And amusing himself with his pipe and cherootsN
The whole afternoon at the Goat in BootsN
With a couple more soakersN
Thoroughbred smokersN
Both like himself prime singers and jokersN
And long after day had drawn to a closeN
And the rest of the world was wrapp'd in reposeN
They were roaring out 'Shenkin ' and 'Ar hydd y nos '-
While David himself to a Sassenach tuneO
Sang 'We've drunk down the Sun boys let's drink down the Moon '-
What have we with day to doD
Mrs Winifred Pryce 'twas made for you '-
At length when they couldn't well drink any moreP
Old 'Goat in Boots' show'd them the doorP
And then came that knockC
And the sensible shockC
David felt when his wife cried 'Look at the Clock '-
-
For the hands stood as crooked as crooked might beQ
The long at the Twelve and the short at the ThreeQ
This self same Clock had long been a boneR
Of contention between this Darby and JoanR
And often among their pother and routS
When this otherwise amiable couple fell outS
Pryce would drop a cool hintT
With an ominous squintT
At its case of an 'Uncle' of his who'd a 'Spout '-
That horrid word 'Spout'T
No sooner came outT
Than Winifred Pryce would turn her aboutT
And with scorn on her lipU
And a hand on each hipU
'Spout' herself till her nose grew red at the tipU
'You thundering willainR
I know you'd be killingV
Your wife ay a dozen of wives for a shillingV
You may do what you pleaseN
You may sell my chemiseN
Mrs P was too well bred to mention her stockC
But I never will part with my Grandmother's Clock '-
-
Mrs Pryce's tongue ran long and ran fastT
But patience is apt to wear out at lastT
And David Pryce in temper was quickW
So he stretch'd out his hand and caught hold of a stickW
Perhaps in its use he might mean to be lenientT
But walking just then wasn't very convenientT
So he threw it insteadT
Direct at her headT
It knock'd off her hatT
Down she fell flatT
Her case perhaps was not much mended by thatT
But whatever it was whether rage and painR
Produced apoplexy or burst a veinR
Or her tumble induced a concussion of brainR
I can't say for certain but this I canR
When sober'd by fright to assist her he ranR
Mrs Winifred Pryce was as dead as Queen AnneR
-
The fearful catastropheQ
Named in my last stropheQ
As adding to grim Death's exploits such a vast trophyQ
Soon made a great noise and the shocking fatalityQ
Ran over like wild fire the whole PrincipalityQ
And then came Mr Ap Thomas the CoronerX
With his jury to sit some dozen or more on herX
Mr Pryce to commenceN
His 'ingenious defence '-
Made a 'powerful appeal' to the jury's 'good sense '-
'The world he must defyQ
Ever to justifyQ
Any presumption of 'Malice Prepense '-
The unlucky lickW
From the end of his stickW
He 'deplored ' he was 'apt to be rather too quick '-
But really her pratingW
Was so aggravatingW
Some trifling correction was just what he meant allY
The rest he assured them was 'quite accidental '-
-
Then he called Mr JonesN
Who deposed to her tonesN
And her gestures and hints about 'breaking his bones '-
While Mr Ap Morgan and Mr Ap RhysN
Declared the DeceasedT
Had styled him 'a Beast '-
And swore they had witness'd with grief and surpriseN
The allusions she made to his limbs and his eyesN
The jury in fine having sat on the bodyQ
The whole day discussing the case and gin toddyQ
Return'd about half past eleven at nightQ
The following verdict 'We find Sarve her right '-
Mr Pryce Mrs Winifred Pryce being deadQ
Felt lonely and moped and one evening he saidQ
He would marry Miss Davis at once in her steadQ
-
Not far from his dwellingW
From the vale proudly swellingW
Rose a mountain it's name you'll excuse me from tellingW
For the vowels made use of in Welsh are so fewQ
That the A and the E the I O and the UQ
Have really but little or nothing to doQ
And the duty of course falls the heavier by farZ
On the L and the H and the N and the RZ
Its first syllable 'Pen '-
Is pronounceable thenR
Come two L Ls and two H Hs two F Fs and an NR
About half a score Rs and some Ws followA2
Beating all my best efforts at euphony hollowA2
But we shan't have to mention it often so whenR
We do with your leave we'll curtail it to 'Pen '-
-
Well the moon shone brightQ
Upon 'Pen' that nightQ
When Pryce being quit of his fuss and his frightQ
Was scaling its sideQ
With that sort of strideQ
A man puts out when walking in search of a brideQ
Mounting higher and higherX
He began to perspireB2
Till finding his legs were beginning to tireX
And feeling opprestQ
By a pain in his chestQ
He paused and turn'd round to take breath and to restQ
A walk all up hill is apt we knowA2
To make one however robust puff and blowA2
So he stopp'd and look'd down on the valley belowA2
-
O'er fell and o'er fenR
Over mountain and glenR
All bright in the moonshine his eye roved and thenR
All the Patriot rose in his soul and he thoughtQ
Of Wales and her glories and all he'd been taughtQ
Of her Heroes of oldQ
So brave and so boldQ
Of her Bards with long beards and harps mounted in goldQ
Of King Edward the FirstQ
Of memory accurstQ
And the scandalous manner in which he behavedQ
Killing Poets by dozensN
With their uncles and cousinsN
Of whom not one in fifty had ever been shavedQ
Of the Court Ball at which by a lucky mishapC2
Owen Tudor fell into Queen Katherine's lapC2
And how Mr TudorX
Successfully woo'd herX
Till the Dowager put on a new wedding ringW
And so made him Father in law to the KingW
-
He thought upon Arthur and Merlin of yoreP
On Gryffth ap Conan and Owen GlendourP
On Pendragon and Heaven knows how many moreP
He thought of all this as he gazed in a triceN
And on all things in short but the late Mrs PryceN
When a lumbering noise from behind made him startQ
And sent the blood back in full tide to his heartQ
Which went pit a patQ
As he cried out 'What's that '-
That very queer soundQ
Does it come from the groundQ
Or the air from above or below or aroundQ
It is not like TalkingW
It is not like WalkingW
It's not like the clattering of pot or of panR
Or the tramp of a horse or the tread of a manR
Or the hum of a crowd or the shouting of boysN
It's really a deuced odd sort of a noiseN
Not unlike a Cart's but that can't be for whenR
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 drunkW
Now experienced what schoolboys denominate 'funk '-
In vain he look'd backW
On the whole of the trackW
He had traversed a thick cloud uncommonly blackW
At this moment obscured the broad disc of the moonR
And did not seem likely to pass away soonR
While clearer and clearerP
'Twas plain to the hearerP
Be the noise what it might it drew nearer and nearerP
And sounded as Pryce to this moment declaresN
Very much 'like a Coffin a walking up stairs '-
-
Mr Pryce had begunR
To 'make up' for a runR
As in such a companion he saw no great funR
When a single bright rayP
Shone out on the wayP
He had pass'd and he saw with no little dismayP
Coming after him bounding o'er crag and o'er rockW
The deceased Mrs Winifred's 'Grandmother's Clock '-
'Twas so it had certainly moved from its placeN
And come lumbering on thus to hold him in chaseN
'Twas the very same Head and the very same CaseN
And nothing was alter'd at all but the FaceN
In that he perceived with no little surpriseN
The two little winder holes turn'd into eyesN
Blazing with ireP
Like two coals of fireP
And the 'Name of the Maker' was changed to a LipU
And the Hands to a Nose with a very red tipU
No he could not mistake it ' twas She to the lifeQ
The identical Face of his poor defunct WifeQ
-
One glance was enoughQ
Completely 'Quant suff '-
As the doctors write down when they send you their 'stuff '-
Like a Weather cock whirl'd by a vehement puffQ
David turn'd himself roundQ
Ten feet of groundQ
He clear'd in his start at the very first boundQ
-
I've seen people run at West End Fair for cheesesN
I've seen Ladies run at Bow Fair for chemisesN
At Greenwich Fair twenty men run for a hatQ
And one from a Bailiff much faster than thatQ
At foot ball I've seen lads run after the bladderP
I've seen Irish Bricklayers run up a ladderP
I've seen little boys run away from a caneR
And I've seen that is read of good running in SpainR
But I never did readQ
Of or witness such speedQ
As David exerted that evening IndeedQ
All I ever have heard of boys women or menR
Falls far short of Pryce as he ran over 'Pen '-
-
He reaches its browP
He has past it and nowP
Having once gain'd the summit and managed to cross it heQ
Rolls down the side with uncommon velocityQ
But run as he willD2
Or roll down the hillD2
That bugbear behind him is after him stillD2
And close at his heels not at all to his likingW
The terrible Clock keeps on ticking and strikingW
Till exhausted and soreP
He can't run any moreP
But falls as he reaches Miss Davis's doorP
And screams when they rush out alarm'd at his knockW
'Oh Look at the Clock Do Look at the Clock '-
-
Miss Davis look'd up Miss Davis look'd downR
She saw nothing there to alarm her a frownR
Came o'er her white foreheadQ
She said 'It was horridQ
A man should come knocking at that time of nightQ
And give her Mamma and herself such a frightQ
To squall and to bawlY
About nothing at allY
She begg'd 'he'd not think of repeating his callY
His late wife's disasterP
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 woesN
She turn'd on her heel and she turned up her noseN
-
Poor David in vainR
Implored to remainR
He 'dared not ' he said 'cross the mountain again '-
Why the fair was obdurateQ
None knows to be sure itQ
Was said she was setting her cap at the CurateQ
Be that as it may it is certain the sole holeE2
Pryce could find to creep into that night was the Coal holeE2
In that shady retreatQ
With nothing to eatQ
And with very bruised limbs and with very sore feetQ
All night close he keptQ
I can't say he sleptQ
But he sigh'd and he sobb'd and he groan'd and he weptQ
Lamenting his sinsN
And his two broken shinsN
Bewailing his fate with contortions and grinsN
And her he once thought a complete Rara AvisN
Consigning to Satan viz cruel Miss DavisN
-
Mr David has since had a 'serious call '-
He never drinks ale wine or spirits at allY
And they say he is going to Exeter HallY
To make a grand speechF2
And to preach and to teachF2
People that 'they can't brew their malt liquor too small '-
That an ancient Welsh Poet one Pyndar ap TudorP
Was right in proclaiming 'Ariston men Udor '-
Which means 'The pure ElementQ
Is for the belly meant '-
And that Gin's but a Snare of Old Nick the deluderP
-
And 'still on each evening when pleasure fills up '-
At the old Goat in Boots with Metheglin each cupG2
Mr Pryce if he's thereP
Will get into 'the Chair '-
-
And make all his quondam associates stareP
By calling aloud to the landlady's daughterP
'Patty bring a cigar and a glass of Spring Water '-
-
The dial he constantly watches and whenR
The long hand's at the 'XII ' and the short at the 'X '-
He gets on his legsN
Drains his glass to the dregsN
Takes his hat and great coat off their several pegsN
With his President's hammer bestows his last knockW
And says solemnly 'GentlemenR
'Look at the Clock '-

Richard Harris Barham



Rate:
(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


 

Recent Interactions*

This poem was read 11 times,

This poem was added to the favorite list by 0 members,

This poem was voted by 0 members.

(* Interactions only in the last 7 days)

New Poems

Popular Poets