Though we all took it for a jest:

Partridge is dead; nay more, he died

Ere he could prove the good 'squire lied.

Strange, an astrologer should die

Without one wonder in the sky!

Not one of his crony stars

To pay their duty at his hearse!

No meteor, no eclipse appear'd!

No comet with a flaming beard!

The sun has rose, and gone to bed,