| This is the valiant Cornish man, Who slew the giant Cormoran; A horrid savage monster, who, Before he kill'd, would torture you. |
| Why should we say 'tis yet too soon, To seek for Heaven or think of death; A flower may fade before 'tis noon, And we this day may lose our breath. |
| Ah! who is this totters along, And leans on the top of his stick; His wrinkles are many and long, And his beard is grown silver and thick. |
| I envy not thy ill-got riches, Sure oft remorse thy conscience twitches; I'd rather be yon little mouse, And seek my bread from house to house. |
