Th’ unwelcome messenger of fate,
Once more before him stood.
Half kill’d with anger and surprise,
“So soon return’d!” old Dobson cries:
“So soon, d’ye call it!” Death replies:
“Surely, my friend, you’re but in jest;
Since I was here before,
’Tis six and forty or fifty years at least,
And you are now fourscore.”
“So much the worse,” the clown rejoin’d: