1.
Forth from my sad and darksome cell,
Or from the deep abyss of Hell,
Mad Tom is come to see the world again
To see if he can ease his distempered brain.
Fear and care doth pierce my soul;
Hark! how the angry furies howl!
Pluto laughs; Proserpine is glad
To see poor Tom of Bedlam mad.
Through the woods I wander night and day
To find my straggling senses;
In an angry mood I found old time
With his pentarchy of tenses.
When me he spies, away he flies,
For time will stay for no man;
In vain with cries I rend the skies
For pity is not common.
Cold and comfortless I lie;
Help! O help! or else I die.
Hark! I hear Apollo’s team;
The carman ’gins to whistle;
Chaste Diana bends her bow;
The boar begins to bristle.
Come to Vulcan with tools and tackles,
And knock him on a good pair of shackles;
Bid Charles make ready his wain
To fetch me my senses again.
2.
Last night I heard the Dog Star bark;
Mars met with Venus in the dark;
Limping Vulcan het an iron bar,
And fiercely did run at the god of war.
Mars with his weapons laid about,
But Vulcan’s temples had the gout;
His broad horns did hang so in his light;
He could not see to aim his blows aright.
Mercury, the nimble post of heaven,
Stayed still to see this quarrel;
Gor-bellied Bacchus, giant-like,
Bestrode a strong beer barrel.
To me he drank; I did him thank,
But I could get no cider;
He drank whole butts till he cracked his guts,
But mine were ne’er the wider.
Poor, naked Tom is very dry –
A little drink for charity!
Hark! I hear Acteon’s hounds;
The huntsman whoops and hallows.
Ringwood, Royster, Bowman, Jowler;
All the chase now follows.
The man in the moon drinks claret
With powder-beef, turnip and carrot;
A cup of old Malaga sack
Will fire the bush at his back.