And the glad parish pays the frugal fee.
No more, O Death! thy victim starts to hear
Churchwarden stern, or kingly overseer;
No more the farmer claims his humble bow,
Thou art his lord, the best of tyrants thou!
Now to the church behold the mourners come,
330
Sedately torpid and devoutly dumb;
The village children now their games suspend,
To see the bier that bears their ancient friend: