Is like a stinging adder;—
I sigh when I pass the gallows' foot,
And look at the rope and ladder!—
XXXVII.
For hanging looks sweet,—but, alas! in vain,
My desperate fancy begs,—
I must turn my cup of sorrows quite up,
And drink it to the dregs,—
For there is not another man alive,
In the world, to pull my legs!