(Written by himself when twenty-three years of age.)
The body of Benjamen Franklin, printer like the cover of an old book its contents torn out and stripped of its lettering and gilding, lies here food for worms.
Yet the work itself shall not be lost for it will, as he believed, appear once more in a new and more beautiful edition corrected and amended by the author.
Carved on a little stone in a Maryland churchyard, after the name of the dead.
"He held the pall at the funeral of Shakspeare."
Bayfield, Miss.
(On a child struck by lightning.)
Struck by thunder.
Stranger pause my tale attend,
And learn the cause of Hannah's end.
Across the world the wind did blow,
She ketched a cold that laid her low.
We shed a lot of tears 'tis true,
But life is short—aged 82.
Here lies my wife in earthly mould,
Who when she lived did naught but scold.
Peace! wake her not, for now she's still,
She had; but now I have my will.