Edward Kent

You want to know the best hotel, sir,
In this little poky town?
Well, I should say The Pig and Whistle's
Better than The Rose and Crown
It's right up there-behind the station
It's small I own-but sells good ale!
But when I talks about The Pig, sir,
I can't help thinking of its tale!
I'm sick when people raves of heroes
Of the ancient Roman race!
When we've got one that whacks the lot, sir,
Even in this poky place.
Scene... It was the railway station,
And the through express was due!
It passes us six-thirty-nine, sir,
The hour was then six-thirty-two!
When a storm bursts overhead, sir,
And the lightning strikes the line!
The rails leap up upon the platforms
And around the crowd, they twine!

  Horror! hark!... the train's approaching
Flying nearer to the town!
The women scream for men to stop it!
But the signals are jammed down!
When quickly porter Wilson Wiggins
Grabs a paint pot and a brush
And with a ladder, to the foot-bridge,
O'er the line, he makes a rush!
Then on the side of that there foot-bridge
Paints in letters large and white,
So as any one can spot them

Saved! ay, saved! the train and people!
For when the driver reads that sign
He shuts the steam off puts the brakes on
And he stops the "thirty-nine"!
You'd like to treat a man like that, sir?
I thought you would!... the time now seize
The nearest pub is over there, sir,
I am Wilson Wiggins, please.

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