In our special six-feet by the sexton up-cast,
We smack of the earth, till we earthy have grown,
Like the mound that Death gives us—best friend—for our own.
We tramp it, we delve it, we plough it, this soil,
And a grave is the final reward of our toil.
Attached? The attachment of love is one thing,
The attachment of profit another. Gurth's ring
Is our form of attachment at bottom, Sir, still,
And to favour that bond HODGE doubts not your good will.
But when others talk of improving our lot