The Devil's Court. A Fragment. Poem by Samuel Bamford

Now the Devil, saith report,
Once would hold a justice court,
He'd a notion for trying his hand,
He sent constables from hell
And they did their duty well,
For they cribb'd all the cadgers of the land.

Beside some highway reives
And a score or two of thieves,
With flashman, the prig, and the swell,
And some half-a-dozen stood
With their knuckles dabb'd in blood,
Such a crew was never raked out of hell.

Not a roof tree could be found,
Length or breadth of English ground,
That could span o'er those victims of sin,
So he wav'd his sable hand,
And straight at his command,
They down sank, and were fast walled in.

I can tell the very spot,
For its often been my lot
To go night-hunting foumarts that way,
Just behind the Tandle Hill,
Where our Sunday morning's drill
We perform'd 'gainst the great meeting day.

And when in nightly chase
We approach'd the market place,
How strange was the yell of the hound,
It was like a cry of pain
Till we gain'd the hill again,
So we hasten'd to pass o'er that ground.

Devil's court was held at night,
But his worship must have light,
So he put forth his hand and uptore
Twenty oaks from Gerrard's wood,
And he piled them where he stood,
Sap gan fizz, and the fire loud did roar.