GONE or GOING.

Fine merry franions,
Wanton companions,
My days are ev’n banyans
With thinking upon ye;
How Death, that last stringer,
Finis-writer, end-bringer,
Has laid his chill finger,
Or is laying, on ye.

There’s rich Kitty Wheatley,
With footing it featly
That took me completely,
She sleeps in the Kirk-house;
And poor Polly Perkin,
Whose Dad was still ferking
The jolly ale firkin—
She’s gone to the Work-house:

Fine gard’ner, Ben Carter
(In ten counties no smarter)
Has ta’en his departure
For Proserpine’s orchards;
And Lily, postillion,
With cheeks of vermilion,
Is one of a million
That fill up the church-yards.

And, lusty as Dido,
Fat Clemitson’s widow
Flits now a small shadow
By Stygian hid ford;
And good Master Clapton
Has thirty years nap’t on
The ground he last hap’t on;
Intomb’d by fair Widford;

And gallant Tom Docwra,
Of Nature’s finest crockery,
Now but thin air and mockery,
Lurks by Avernus;
Whose honest grasp of hand,
Still, while his life did stand,
At friend’s or foe’s command,
Almost did burn us.

(Roger de Coverly
Not more good man than he),
Yet is he equally
Push’d for Cocytus,
With cuckoldy Worral,
And wicked old Dorrel,
Gainst whom I’ve a quarrel—
His death might affright us!

Had he mended in right time,
He need not in night time,
(That black hour, and fright-time,)
Till sexton interr’d him,
Have groan’d in his coffin,
While demons stood scoffing—
You’d ha’ thought him a coughing—
My own father [223] heard him!

Could gain so importune,
With occasion opportune,
That for a poor Fortune,
That should have been ours,[224]
In soul he should venture
To pierce the dim center,
Where will-forgers enter,
Amid the dark Powers?—

Kindly hearts I have known;
Kindly hearts, they are flown;
Here and there if but one
Linger, yet uneffaced,—
Imbecile, tottering elves,
Soon to be wreck’d on shelves,
These scarce are half themselves,
With age and care crazed.

10.

But this day, Fanny Hutton
Her last dress has put on;
Her fine lessons forgotten,
She died, as the dunce died;
And prim Betsey Chambers,
Decay’d in her members,
No longer remembers
Things, as she once did:

11.

And prudent Miss Wither
Not in jest now doth wither,
And soon must go—whither
Nor I, well, nor you know;
And flaunting Miss Waller—
That soon must befal her,
Which makes folks seem taller,[225]—
Though proud, once, as Juno!

Elia.

[223] Who sat up with him.

[224] I have this fact from Parental tradition only.

[225] Death lengthens people to the eye.