bones of the dead;
Some have thought it a human thing;
But this is a vain imagining.
_Maranatha--Anathema!
Dread is the curse of mandragora!
Euthanasy!_

A charnel leaf doth the mandrake wear,
A charnel fruit doth the mandrake bear;
Yet none like the mandrake hath such great power,
Such virtue resides not in herb or flower;
Aconite, hemlock, or moonshade, I ween,
None hath a poison so subtle and keen.
_Maranatha--Anathema!
Dread is the curse of mandragora!
Euthanasy!_

And whether the mandrake be create
Flesh with the power incorporate,
I know not; yet, if from the earth 'tis rent,
Shrieks and groans from the root are sent;
Shrieks and groans, and a sweat like gore
Oozes and drops from the clammy core.
_Maranatha--Anathema!
Dread is the curse of mandragora!
Euthanasy!_

Whoso gathereth the mandrake shall surely die;
Blood for blood is his destiny.
Some who have plucked it have died with groans,
Like to the mandrake's expiring moans;
Some have died raving, and some beside--
With penitent prayers--but _all_ have died.
_Jesu! save us by night and day!
From the terrible death of mandragora!
Euthanasy!_

"A queer chant that," said Zoroaster, coughing loudly, in token of
disapprobation.

"Not much to my taste," quoth the knight of Malta. "We like something
more sprightly in Canterbury."

"Nor to mine," added Jerry; "don't think it's likely to have an encore.
'Pon my soul, Dick, you must give us something yourself, or we shall
never cry Euthanasy at the Triple Tree."

"With all my heart," replied Turpin. "You shall have--but what do I see,
my friend Sir Luke? Devil take my tongue, Luke Bradley, I mean. What,
ho! Luke--nay, nay, man, no shrinking--stand forward; I've a word or two
to say to you. We must have a hob-a-nob glass together for old
acquaintance sake. Nay, no airs, man; damme you're not a lord yet, nor a
baronet either, though I do hold your title in my pocket; never look
glum at me. It won't pay. I'm one of the Canting Crew n