Over a grave in Prince Edward’s Island.
Here lies the body of poor Charles Lamb,
Killed by a tree that fell slap bang.
Here lies the body of Gabriel John,
Who died in the year of a thousand and one;
Pray for the soul of Gabriel John,
You may if you please,
Or let it alone;
For its all one
To Gabriel John,
Who died in the year of a thousand and one.
Here lies John Bunn,
Who was killed by a gun;
His name wasn’t Bun, his real name was Wood,
But Wood wouldn’t rhyme with gun, so I thought Bun should.
In Memory of
THE STATE LOTTERY,
the last of a long line
whose origin in England commenced
in the year 1569,
which, after a series of tedious complaints,
Expired
on the
18th day of October, 1826.
During a period of 257 years, the family
flourished under the powerful protection
of the
British Parliament;
the minister of the day continuing to
give them his support for the
improvement of the revenue.
As they increased, it was found that their
continuance corrupted the morals,
and encouraged a spirit
of speculation and gambling among the
lower classes of the people;
thousands of whom fell victims to their
insinuating and tempting allurements.
Many philanthropic individuals
in the Senate
at various times for a series of years,
pointed out their baneful influence
without effect,
His Majesty’s Ministers
still affording them their countenance
and protection.
The British Parliament
being at length convinced of their
mischievous tendency,
His Majesty George IV.,
on the 9th July, 1823,
pronounced sentence of condemnation
on the whole race;
from which time they were almost
Neglected by the British Public.
Very great efforts were made by the
Partisans and friends of the family to
excite
the public feeling in favour of the last
of the race, in vain:
it continued to linger out the few
remaining
moments of its existence without attention
or sympathy, and finally terminated
its career, unregretted by any
virtuous mind.
’Twas by a fall I caught my death;
No man can tell his time or breath;
I might have died as soon as then
If I had had physician men.
On a Grocer.
Garret some call’d him,
but that was too hye;
His name is Garrard
who now here doth lie;
Weepe not for him,
since he is gone before
To heaven, where Grocers
there are many more.
THE END.
F. Pickton, Printer, Perry’s Place, 29 Oxford Street.