She'll strain a point, and sit astride,
To take thee kindly in between;
And then the signs will be thirteen.
THE EPITAPH.
Here, five foot deep, lies on his back
A cobbler, star-monger, and quack;
Who to the stars in pure good-will
Does to his best look upward still.
Weep, all you customers that use
His pills, his almanacs, or shoes: