I give the Cushion, finely scroll'd, With faded flowers and tarnish'd gold, Whose rich embroidery was plann'd And work'd by Anna Boleyn's hand; From which her prayers did Heav'n invoke, Before the Headsman gave the stroke,— To my good maiden cousin KATE, Who loves to be devout in state; So that, hereafter, she'll be seen To say her prayers like any Queen.
The Shuttle-cock, which oft amus'd
The Scottish Mary, when accus'd
Of treas'nous plots, of many a wile,
And did the heavy hours beguile,
As within Fotheringay's towers
She pass'd the sad and ling'ring hours,
I to my Nephew Playful leave,
The Battledore I also give ;
For well I know there is but one:
Indeed, 'twere best, as could be shewn,
That he should play the Fool, alone.
There's Turpin's bones well put together, Which many a year withstood the weather, As on a Gibbet's height they hung,
And, when the wind blew briskly, swung.
'Tis now a century ago
Since this same Knight work'd mickle woe, On certain folks that go abroad,
And travel on a public road.
These he had got a way to frighten,
And of their cash and watches lighten;
But having ventur'd on the Mail,
His fortune then began to fail.
Tyburn, at length, his triumphs ended
On Hounslow Heath to be suspended
In time the iron chains gave way,
And to preserve him from decay,
I had the unsettled bones new set,
And plac'd them in my Cabinet.
This curious Skeleton I leave,
If he will my bequest receive,
To my Friend All-sop, who, as Mayor,
Will one day fill the City Chair:
And such a paunch he doth unfold,
As largest barrow could not hold.
This Legacy I do commend,
In the true spirit of a Friend;
That it may this good lesson tell,
To one I've known so long-so well.—
"Though you for years, that Carcase line,
'Though ev'ry day on dainties dine:
"And crack your jokes, and drink your
wine.
"Though you're so fat-you'll one day
'Yourself, good Sir, as thin as me; "And, all your joyous banquets past, "A shape, like mine, you'll have at last."
-A Bull's Horn full six feet in measure,
A unique thing—a perfect treasure,
Nam'd, by Antiquarians sage,
The growth of a far distant age;
Nay, 'tis by many understood,
To've been a Horn before the flood.
-I give it but I can't proceed,
Howe'er important be the deed,
I'm so fatigu'd and full of pain :—
To-morrow, Lawyer, call again.
-In reading, some relief I'll seek,
For 'tis a trouble now to speak.
-Holla! holla there!—much I fear
My voice will never make them hear :
Nor have I strength to pull the bell,
To call up Jonathan, to tell
That Lawyer Sly has been so nimble,
As to slip on Queen Mary's thimble:
And he has managed to purloin
A velvet purse and all its coin;
So wrought, and of such ancient date,
That they are ten times worth their weight.
Most surely, at to-morrow's meeting,
A Constable shall give him greeting.
Indeed, I wish that I were hurl'd,
At once, out of this pilf'ring world.
I can't stay long, and if 'twere now-
-When Death appear'd, and made his Bow.
Old Fungus lifted up his eye,
And saw the Grisly Spectre nigh.
'I'm not alarm'd, (he calmly said,)
I do not your approach upbraid:
But look not quite so fierce, I pray,
At least, for one half-hour stay.
-A thing or two, I wish to know,
So tell me now, before I go :-
You liv'd in fam'd Deucalion's time,
When this old world was in its prime.
Say, in those days did men grow bolder,
And o'er top us by head and shoulder?
Or did those antiquated people
Grow up as tall as modern steeple?
Besides, my Will does not make out,
It is a matter still of doubt,
Whether I'll be like Roman burn'd
Or to Egyptian mummy turn'd :
For I'm determin'd, thou Barbarian!
When dead-to be an Antiquarian.'
'Prepare, (cried Death,) I cannot stay,
I have ten thousand kill'd to-day;
And when your small concern is o'er,
I shall slay full ten thousand more.'
'I know, dread Sir, (it was replied) That you are seldom satisfied. If so impatient, kill the CAT: She has nine lives-remember that ; At least, nine minutes you'll employ, Her, and her nine lives to destroy; And while Grimalkin you bespatter, I'll settle this important matter.' But Death pois'd high the fatal dart, And aim'd it at the old man's heart. 'I'll not be burned then,' fungus cries, 'I'll be a Mummy-yes—' and dies.
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