THE whipping-post, the whipping-post,
I love you: you're a dear!
The whipping-post folks often roast.
How whimsical, how queer!
          Men's taste is such,
          They change so much.
Shut up, don't howl, don't cry.
Saw wood, you'll soon know why.
Don't get upset; now gently, gently.
Give me your ear both ears intently.

The day of the whipping broke clear and bright,
The sun looked down on a wond'rous sight.
Look! what is that crowd so patiently waiting?
What means all this chatter, what are they debating?
Why, haven't you heard, it's advertised wide—
They are waiting to cheer the Delaware Bride.

The Delaware Bride is a post made of deal,
Dumb witness of many a sinner's sharp squeal.
All hail to the lash, give us gore, let it pour!
All hail to the time-honoured Delaware law!

Pretty little Mabel was a teacher in the school;
Pretty little Mabel thought she's break the golden rule.
First she wasted stationery, then she broke the chalk.
To potent Superintendents was addicted to back talk.
One foxy Superintendent, a man of great resources,
Did not at all believe in the mild and middle courses.
          He brought her a stripe,
          Of the Delaware type.
He made his complaint in the proper direction;
The Judge and the jury decided correction.
On poor little Mabel the sentence now crashes—
Her soft naked back must receive forty lashes.

Her punishment will be applied
Outside the jail, 'twill hurt her pride.
          Of course it will;
          A bitter pill.
Her legal whipping is advertised well;
Her press agents work both by book and bell;
The preparations near the jail
Are handled on tremendous scale.

This tall massive platform of pine, long and wide,
Is reached by a flight of ten steps on one side.
On top of this platform, so stately and high,
The whipping-post gracefully pierces the sky;
The whipping-post, famous in prose and in song;
The post of stern justice, inspiring, strong;
The post of correction, the joy and the pride
Of county and State, fair Delaware's Bride.

Up high on a staff waves the flag of the free,
Below stands the crowd, the whipping to see,
All laughing, joking, poking fun.
By Jove! it almost yanks the bun!
It seems just like a county fair,
This motley crowd, all free from care,
Waiting to see one little girl whipped—
Waiting to look at her shape when stripped.

Ah! lo! a trumpet blow, a sudden blast.
Ho ho! The whipping will begin at last;
The prison gates open, the show commences.
What! have the people lost their senses?
Don't shove, don't move, don't rush!
Hats off! don't speak! Hush, hush!

The Sheriff and prisoner both appear;
One bare-foot prisoner, Mabel dear.
A slip of a girl with eyes of blue,
Of violet hue—so honest, true;
As clear and bright as the stars above,
A sweet little girlie girl, made to love.

She has to walk bare-foot, the law says she must;
Both stockings and shoes are a cause of distrust.
It's easy to give the Sheriff a kick
Through spite; it is really a very old trick.
And so to make everything safe and discreet,
Our Mabel now walks on two pretty bare feet.
Two cute little lily white, tender bare feet.
Poor dearie, poor darling, so innocent, sweet.

          The sheriff and she
          As chic as can be,
They walk up the stairs like a sister and brother,
Confidingly holding the hand of each other.
          It is a touching sight to see
          This couple free from enmity;
          The Sheriff, dignified and calm,
          And Mabel, dear, all youth and charm,
Dressed in white flannel so trim and so neat
From the top of her head to her pretty bare feet.

          Oh, Mabel, child,
          Don't stare so wild.
          What can it be?
          Oh yes, I see.
She looks at the Sheriff with trembling lip,
She sees that he carries a large rawhide whip.
          Oh, cruel sight!
          Oh, dreadful plight!
          Oh, Mabel, you're in a sad fix;
          Too late now to register kicks.

The platform is covered with oil-cloth complete;
It tickles the soles of her pretty bare feet.
          Oh, what chills!
          Oh, what thrills!

The Sheriff is concise and clear,
And thus addresses Mabel dear:
          Hear! Hear!
After this eloquent pow-wow,
Where is Demosthenes' fame now?
This is speech he made,
Oh, will it ever fade?

"Before the rod of justice swings,
Remove your necklace, chain and rings;
Before we fetch this racket off
You'll have to take your jacket off—
And then—you know—the other things—
That thing of crepe de chine that clings.
The law is plain—no more—no less.
Here is the warrant—please undress.
Your time has come—we cannot wait;
Prepare yourself—don't hesitate—
Just take a tip—don't get the pip."
Thus spoke the guardian of the whip.
          This is the speech he made;
          Oh, will it ever fade?

Mabel removes her chain and rings,
And then her jacket off she flings,
Her shirtwaist next she casts aside.
She shuts her eyes, but cannot hide
Her shame: she trembles like a reed,
Unable further to proceed.
          Oh my!
          How shy!

          The Sheriff, rolling up his sleeve,
          Grasped firm the rawhide whip
          And said, "My duty makes me grieve.
          Be kind enough to strip
          Down to the skin.
          Come, come! begin.
Lift up your head, don't hide your face;
Take off that thing all trimmed with lace."

          Burning with shame,
          With eyes of flame,
With trembling hands the gentle maid
Her lingerie unlaced.
And pretty little Mabel stood
Stripped naked to the waist.
          Pink and white fairy!
          Fragile and airy!

The mob around the scaffold press,
Eager to see the girl undress.
All eyes are centred on her form,
So pretty, bare, and white.
Upon her shoulder, soft and warm,
Is one mosquito bite;
          One cute little dot;
          One pretty pink spot.

The crowd is excited, bewildered, delighted,
All dizzy, like fire and brimstone ignited;
The women all nervous, the children affrighted,
While most of the men have their cameras sighted
On pink and white Mabel, the neat pearly pearl.
The dearie, the darling, the sweet girlie girl.

Oh, heaven! from the lash defend her!
Pity the soft white flesh so tender!
This is the murmur heard the most.
They lead her to the whipping-post;
Face to the post she takes her stand,
Pink and white vision from fairy land.

The Sheriff with official air
Arranges Mabel with great care.
He chains her up exactly right,
Her body bent, her skin drawn tight.
Her skin so dainty, oh, so fair!
Down to the waist completely bare.

          The Sheriff stands ready,
          His whip hand is steady.

Now Mabel bowed her lovely head,
Closed both her eyes—a prayer said,
          Her misery complete.
Glancing aside—bewildered—dazed,
She shudders! see! the whip is raised.
She shrinks against the post quite crazed.
          Oh, how her heart does beat!
There comes a blinding whizzing flash
The whip—it gives a crack,
And then a cruel stinging lash
On Mabel's bare white back.

          Oh, hear her cry!
          Oh, my; oh my!
          Look! a pink stripe—
          The Delaware type.

Again the whip did rise and whirl,
Whipping the sobbing little girl,
Lashing and slashing with cruel crack,
Whipping her beautiful naked back.

Whipping and whipping, oh, how the whip flies!
Whipping and whipping, what piteous cries!
Lashing and slashing, with cruel crack,
Whipping the skin off her naked back.

Poor little Mabel, frantic with pain,
Screaming and struggling, almost insane;
Trembling, quivering, see the flesh shivering—
All the croud jeering—witty and leering.
So heartless—so vile! The Sheriff, meanwhile,
All patience continues, with strenuous sinews,
Lashing and slashing, with cruel crack,
Whipping the poor little naked back.
When lo! a trumpet blow! a sudden blast.
Ho ho! the Sheriff drops his whip at last.
          The punishment ended,
          The law is defended,
And poor little Mabel is writhing, suspended,
          Chained to the whipping post,
          Where pain is nipping most,
          Bleeding—half dying—
          Bitterly crying.

Oh, look at her back! her bare pretty back!
Those cruel pink stripes on her back. Oh, alack!
          Ah, many a stripe,
          Of the Delaware type.
          Hear her moan,
          Hear her groan,
          In that dull monotone.

          The Sheriff meanwhile
          Has put on a style,
The cheering is loud as he bows to the crowd.
          See him smile!
          Oh, that smile,
As he kisses his hand with a countenance bland.
          See him wink!
          What a blink!
Don't he stink, don't he stink!
The thirty-ninth lash has been given at last,

The prisoner freed from the chain that held fast.
The law is supreme, the whipping is over;
Three cheers now for Wilmington, New Castle, Dover.

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