And Dowling ever was the last who drank:
Arrived at home, he, ere he sought his bed,
With pipe and brandy would compose his head,
Then half an hour was o’er the news beguiled,
When he retired as harmless as a child.
Set but aside the gravel and the gout.
And breathing short - his sand ran fairly out.
“At fifty-five we lost him - after that
Life grows insipid and its pleasures flat;
He had indulged in all that man can have,