The Doctor's Wife
Andrews, Printer. 38 Chatham, Street N.Y.—
The Doctor’s Wife.
In the parish of Peters, in this very town,
A doctor once lived, his name it was Brown;
He was scarce a year married until she fell sick,
And in a week after the bucket did kick,
Of course she was waked in the greatest of style,
Wearing her rings and trinkets the while,
As the doctor gave orders for one not to stir
Those jewels, as they should be buried with her.
The sexton, a miserly covetous elf,
Imagined he’d have those jewels himself,
He went to the vault as aleven did chime,
But the footman was just done his job at the time.
All the rings he had cut off except one that was tight,
With his penknife he cut the whole finger off quite:
The blood began flowing, and, to his surprise,
The doctor’s wife sat up and opened her eyes.
“Death alive!” said poor John as he made to the door,
Met the sexton, tumbled him flat on the floor,
From the graveyard he flew with the speed of a horse,
And met three sack-em-ups coming in for the corpse.
She got to her house, she bolted up stairs,
Expecting to see the dear man at his prayers.
To push in the door she was greatly afraid,
When she did, she caught him at tea with the maid.
When he saw as he though his wife’s ghost coming in,
His bones nearly shook themselves out of his skin,
The maid sneaked away, and got under the bed,
And the thuhdermug broke with a crack of her head.
When he found that his wife had been but in a trance,
He laughed at the footman being led such a dance,
He got the two servants married that very week,
And gave them ten pounds to hold a hard check.