Poor like himself, the happy spinster lay,
And sweet assurance bless'd her dying-day;
Poor like the spinster, he, when death was nigh,
Assured of nothing, felt afraid to die.
The cheerful clerks who sometimes pass'd the door,
Just mention'd "Abel!" and then thought no more.
So Abel, pondering on his state forlorn,
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Look'd round for comfort, and was chased by scorn.
And now we saw him on the beach reclined,