Death for the pretty girls,
Death for the brutes!
Two black horses with two black tails,
And the long black coach with its four black wheels;
Black-edged handkerchiefs, black crêpe veils—
But who minds now what the dead dog feels?
For a corpse is foul as the rose is fair
And the young must love—and the old don’t care.
To-night it’s the dance, to-morrow the fair.
Bury him quick, with a carriage and pair!