Of wits phosphoric all dumb as “Yorick,”
Fun, fire and fancy, and philosophy;
With that rich cargo at Death’s embargo,
The good ship “Frazer” ne’er more sails the sea.
Ah! well they knew it (why did they do it?)
Who spoilt the gallant rig we loved to see?
That double column grown broad as solemn,
The old brown coat turned modern filagree.
Yet while there lingers of those sweet singers,
That jovial crew still pleasant memory