 | Poems |  |
206
GRAYWACKÈ'S TOMB.
Graywackè on his bed of deathCheapened a tomb with stint of breath:
I could have told him how to save
Some money wasted on his grave.
'Twere but extraction of his heart,
(Death must have pierced some softer part,)
Then, after some few strokes, to turn
The lump into a marble urn,
If chisel could be found to cut it,—
For lasting monument to put it.
No epitaph were half so ample,
At once a record and a sample;
And Time had vainly there, in sooth,
Gnawed, till he broke his last old tooth!
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