Into it he’d wriggle; when in it he got,
He turn’d pale and fell sick, and dropt dead on the spot.
VII.
Birds of passage, alas! all us mortals are here,
Exclaim’d Johnny W⸺ when he spent his last tear;
In his last dying speech, he declar’d with dejection,
He’d not the least hope of a flesh resurrection.
VIII.
Now ere like Johnny W⸺ my muse gives up the ghost,
She leaves, as a legacy, Nature’s first toast;