“The dead, shrivell’d hand, as she clasps it with glee
And now, with care,
The five locks of hair
From the skull of the Gentleman dangling up there,
With the grease and the fat
Of a black Tom Cat
She hastens to mix,
And to twist into wicks,
And one on the thumb, and each finger to fix.
(For another receipt the same charm to prepare,
Consult Mr. Ainsworth and Petit Albert.)
‘ Now open lock
To the Dead Man’s knock!
Fly bolt, and bar, and band!
Nor move, nor swerve
Joint, muscle, or nerve,
At the spell of the Dead Man’s hand!
Sleep all who sleep ! Wake all who wake!
But be as the Dead for the Dead Man’s sake!”
[ taken from R.H.Barham’s “The Ingoldsby Legends” (1840) ]
