IMPROMPTU BY THE LATE GEORGE COLMAN.
About a year since, a young lady begged this celebrated wit to write some verses in her album: he shook his head; but, good-naturedly promising to try, at once extemporised the following,—most probably his last written and poetical jest.
My muse and I, ere youth and spirits fled, Sat up together many a night, no doubt; But now, I've sent the poor old lass to bed, Simply because my fire is going out.