I really cannot speak poz,
But he made of his dart a walking stick,
And went forth like a Plague as he was.
First he called on a brewer of high renown,
And begged of him to taste his own swig,
But scarce had he time to twig the hop
Ere Death made him hop the twig.
He saw a parson, like many there are,
Much fonder of taking than giving,
So Death for once played the Bishop’s part,