Makes his loud rattle sound upon the gale.
On cobbler’s stall, or screen’d by friendly shed,
Full many a maid once breath’d her nightly woes;
Yet here from chill misfortune ever fled,
The houseless wand’rers of the street repose.
The noisy call of Smithfield’s early train,
The sweep’s shrill matins from the chimney stack,
The dustman’s bell, or post-boy’s piping strain,
No more shall call their fleeting spirits back.
(Eight verses omitted)