But to die when scarce past five-and-twenty,
Seems sad, though like Sprague, you die game.
Our duty to-day seems quite certain
The aim, of the fund, is not vague;
Punch hopes human pity will stir the whole city
To honour the memory of Sprague.
In he dashed, though the hugh wall was frowning,
The wall which fell, crushing on him;
Friends toiled, as to rescue the drowning.
Mates dug, though with hope growing dim.