[ Collins / The Exciseman's Disaster ]
An "exciseman" was a type of tax collector; while most notably a tax on liquor, "excise duties" were also levied on other household and commercial products. Such taxes were hugely unpopular in England, particularly since their enforcement was often heavy-handed. A ballad such as this, with its portrayal of a strict exciseman getting his comeuppance — and being rescued by a Newfoundland dog — would surely have had struck a chord with many ordinary folk in early 19th Century England.
The text of this poem, which is subtitled "A True and Dismal Ditty, to the Tune of Chevy Chase," is taken from — get ready; here comes the full title — Scripscrapologia; or Collins's Doggerel Dish of All Sorts. Consisting of Songs adapted to familiar Tunes, and which may be sung with the Chaunterpipe of an Italian Warbler, or the ravishing Accompaniments of Tweedle-dum or Tweedle-dee. Particularly those which have been most applauded in the author's once popular performance, call'd The Brush, the Gallimaufry garnished with a variety of Comic Tales, Quaint Epigrams, Whimsical Epitaphs, etc etc.", self-published by Collins in 1804. It may be that this poem was published a few years earlier, for Collins often printed some of his own work in a newspaper, the Birmingham Chronicle, of which he became co-owner in 1798.
God prosper long our noble selves,
Our wives and children all;
And grant, in pits of wayward elves,
Nor we nor they may fall.
To to gauge the bub, and sound the cask,
Old Dipstick took his way;
Employ'd in Supervisor's task,
All on a summer's day.
With ink-horn hung to button-hole,
And eke in pouch his book,
He once upon a tanner stole,
His hides to overlook.
For strict the Statute was, he knew,
If skins illegal went;
And twelve hours notice (when he drew)
Neglected, caus'd extent.
When, omen dire! at high noon tide,
Whisk'd o'er his head a bat;
And, heedless, casting eyes aside,
He plumpt into a vat!
"Murder! I'm drown'd! old Dipstick cry'd,
While flound'ring like a trout;
A death like this I can't abide,
Help! murder! drag me out!"
When, lo! the tanner straightway came,
And thus deriding spoke:
"To break the laws I'll bear no blame,
So there you needs must soak;
For ere one hide I dare to draw
From out one tan-pit here,
Twelve hours full notice, by the law,
On 'cise book must appear;
So take your pen and mark it down,
Tis fair and legal warning;
And, as 'tis six i'th afternoon,
I'll come at six i'th morning;
And then, if here, alive or dead,
My word you need not doubt,
Of all excheq'ring free from dread,
I'll draw your Hodsack out."
"Twelve hours! (quoth Dip) O! curse the laws!
No notice shall be taken;
I'll burn my books, so do not pause,
But help and save my bacon."
When, lo! a mastiff, strong and young,
Of Newfoundland the breed,
Into the barky pickling sprung,
And prov'd poor Dip's God speed:
For, fast'ning on him by the hair,
He dragg'd him out amain;
So Death, for once, his prey did spare,
Though seldom in such vein.
But harder was the tanner's heart
Than bull's or bullock's hide,
Nor would he with the gauger part
From off the tan-pit's side,
Till book was burnt, and entries all,
"For, now (says he) all's over,
You next may seek, at duty's call,
To exchequer honest Rover."
And thus, of all accounts bereav'd,
Poor Dipstick wail'd his case,
For though, 'tis true, his life was sav'd,
Alas! he lost his place.
God prosper long our noble selves,
Our wives and children all;
And grant, in pits of such like elves,
Nor we nor they may fall.