A poet, a tea-totaller, lay losing of his breath,
And rhapsodizing, as it were, within the jaws of death.
Mad scraps of most perverted verse, from Campbell, Scott, or Hemens
And full of spirits, as of song, in his delirium tremens,
He gasped a cup and couplet—both were finished in a minute,
Then died of drinking too much tea, with too much brandy in it.
A lawyer turned tea-totaller, from drink to get reliefs,
Brief was his vow, and broken soon, perhaps, for want of briefs;
One summer's day, near Temple Bar, with temperance to look big,
He tied its medal to his gown, its riband to his wig