For gold she had lived, and she died for gold,
By a golden weapon—not oaken.
In the morning they found her all alone,
Stiff and bloody, and cold as a stone—
But her leg, the golden leg, was gone,
And the “golden bowl” was broken!
Gold—still gold! it haunted her yet—
At the “Golden Lion” the inquest met,
Its foreman and carver and gilder—
And the jury debated, from twelve till three,