DIRGE
TO THE MEMORY OF MISS ELLEN GEE, OF KEW,
Who died in consequence of being stung in the eye.
Peerless, yet hapless maid of Q!
Accomplish'd LN G!
Never again shall I and U
Together sip our T.
For, ah! the Fates, I know not Y,
Sent midst the flowers a B,
Which ven'mous stung her in the I,
So that she could not C.
LN exclaim'd, "Vile, spiteful B!
If ever I catch U
On jess'mine, rosebud, or sweet P,
I'll change your stinging Q.
"I'll send you, like a lamb or U,
Across the Atlantic C,
From our delightful village Q,
To distant OYE.
"A stream runs from my wounded I,
Salt as the briny C,
As rapid as the X or Y,
The OIO, or D.
"Then fare thee ill, insensate B!
Who stung, nor yet knew Y;
Since not for wealthy Durham's C
Would I have lost my I."
They bear with tears fair LN G
In funeral RA,
A clay-cold corse now doom'd to B,
Whilst I mourn her DK.
Ye nymphs of Q, then shun each B,
List to the reason Y!
For should a B C U at T,
He'll surely sting your I.
Now in a grave, L deep in Q,
She's cold as cold can B;
Whilst robins sing upon A U,
Her dirge and LEG.
New Monthly Magazine.