He aimed at the victim's head!
Alas! too sure, by the jugular vein,
He was struck, and he dropped and died,
And the drayman shook, as he laughed amain,
For blood was the caitiff's pride!
But O I proved, ere I wandered home,
There yet was a friend most true,
Who bore the corse to a silent tomb,
Ah! yes, and embalmed it too,
A kind purveyor came walking by,