“We used to see him at the peep of dawn,
Shaving with hasty strokes his beard away,
Whene’er his window-curtains were undrawn.
“There would he stand o’erlooking yonder shed,
That hides those relics from the public eye,
And watch what we were doing with the dead,
And count the funerals daily going by.
“One morn we miss’d him, in the ’custom’d shop;
Behind the counter where he used to be,
Another serv’d; nor at his early chop,