“I’ve left my house and grounds to Fag—
I hope his master’s shoes will suit him;
And I’ve bequeathed to you my nag,
To feed him for my sake, or shoot him.
The vicar’s wife will take old Fox—
She’ll find him an uncommon mouser;
And let her husband have my box,
My Bible, and my Assmanshauser.
“Whether I ought to die or not,
My doctors cannot quite determine;
It’s only clear that I shall rot,
And be, like Priam, food for vermin.
My debts are paid; but nature’s debt
Almost escaped my recollection:
Tom! we shall meet again; and yet
I cannot leave you my direction.”
