As I am now, so you must be.
Prepare for death, and follow me.
The reader's voice lost in fullness and certainty as he neared the end of this strophe.
"Say, we better get right out of here," said Merle, stepping toward the fence. Even Wilbur was daunted by the blunt warning from beyond.
"Here's another," called Merle, pausing on his way toward the fence. In hushed, fearful tones he declaimed:
Dear companion in your bloom,
Behold me moldering in the tomb,
For
Death is a debt to Nature due,
Which I have paid, and so must you.