As with seed and fresh water his glorsis I fill:
Though the poor little tyle which he waggled so lytely
Loys under the dysies all stiffened and still!"
—And then, to a subdued obbligato upon a bird-whistle, came the touching refrain:
"Yes, I hear him singing 'Tweet,' so melodious and sweet!
Till his shadder comes and flits about the room. 'Tweet-tweet-tweet!'
All my sorrer I forget. For I have the forncy yet,
That he twitters while he's loyin' in his tomb—'Tweet-tweet!'
Yes, he twitters to me softly from his tomb!"
Mr. Punch observed his elder attentively during this plaintive ditty, but there was no discernible moisture in TIME's hard old eyes, though among the rest of the audience noses were being freely blown.