Whose tottering frame unsightly timbers shore.
My dismal lines my ugliness bespeak,
These blacken’d stones proclaiming lengthen’d years;
And many a patch of mud upon my cheek
Look like the grimy stains of scarce-dried tears,
Oh! take me down, and save me from the doom
Of being shortly in the roadway roll’d,
Sending some poor wayfarers to the tomb;
For I am pitiably weak and old.
Time brings misfortunes; and the surging tide