The Ballad of William Bloat

27 Jan


William Bloat

In a mean abode on the Skankill Road
Lived a man named William Bloat.
He had a wife, the curse of his life,
Who continually got his goat.
So one day at dawn, with her nightdress on
He slit her bloody throat.
With a razor gash he settled her hash
Oh never was crime so quick…
But the steady drip on the pillow slip
Of her lifeblood made him sick.
And the pool of gore on the bedroom floor
Grew clotted, cold and thick.
And yet he was glad he had done what he had
As she lay there stiff and still,
But a sudden awe of the angry law
Struck his heart with an icy chill.
So to finish the fun so well begun
He resolved himself to kill.
So he took the sheet from his wife’s coul’ feet
And twisted it into a rope,
And he hanged himself from the pantry shelf,
‘Twas an easy end, let’s hope.
In the face of death with his latest breath
He solemnly cursed the Pope.
But the strangest turn to the whole concern
Is only just beginning.
He went to Hell but his wife got well
And she’s still alive and sinnin’,
For the razor blade was German made
But the sheet was Belfast linen.

By Raymond Calvert


I learned this poem by heart when I was a child, and I used to recite it often. I can still remember every word, and believe me, I’m no longer a child. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have for all these years…

One Response to “The Ballad of William Bloat”

  1. mamakaz at Saturday April 13, 2013 #

    Brilliant lol

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