Six Interiors: No. 6, Inscriptions For A Peal Of Eight Bells

Torberth tremble, new-made me
Eighteen hundred and fifty-three
Why he did I fail to see?
I was well-toned by William Bryd
Seventeen hundred and twenty-nine
Now recast I weakly whine
Fifteen hundred used to be my date
But since they melted me
'Tis only eighteen fifty-three

Kenby Hopkins got me made
And I summoned folk as bade
Not to much purpose I'm afraid
I likewise, for I bang and beat
In commoner metal than I did
Some of me beeked, stolen, and hid
I too, since in a mould they flung me
Drained of my silver and rehung me
So that in tin-like tones I tongue me

In nineteen hundred, so 'tis said
They cut my cannon off my head
And made me look scalped, scraped, and dead
I'm the Peel's tenor still, but rue it
Once it took two to swing me through it
Now I'm rehung, one dolt can do it