Nor was the houseless wanderer e’er driven from his hall,
For, while he feasted all the great, he ne’er forgot the small:
Like a fine old English gentleman, &c.
But time, though sweet, is strong in flight, and years roll swiftly by;
And autum’s falling leaves proclaimed, the old man—he must die!
He laid him down right tranquilly, gave up life’s latest sigh;
While a heavy stillness reign’d around, and tears dimm’d every eye.
For this good old English gentleman, &c.
Now surely this is better far than all the new parade
Of theatres and fancy balls, “At Home,” and masquerade;