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Besides, my dear friend, to this lesson attend,
Which to say and to swear, I'll be bold,
That the corps, snow or rain, can't endanger 'tis plain,
Tho' perhaps you and I may catch cold.
Then Moses went on, sir, the clock has struck one,
Pray, master, look up at the hand,
Why it ne'er can strike less, 'tis a folly to press
A man for to go that can't stand.
At length hat and cloak Old Orthodox took,
But first cram'd his jaws with a quid,
Each tipt off his gill, for fear they should chill,
Then stagger'd away side by side.
When come to the grave, the clerk humm'd a stave,
While the surplice was hung round the priest,
So droll was the figure of Moses and Vicar,
That the parish still talk of the jest.
Good people let's pray,—put the corps t'other way,
Or perchance I shall over it stumble,
'Tis best to take care, tho' the sages declare,
A Mortuum Caput can't tumble.
Woman that's born of man—that's wrong, the leaf's torn,
O man that is born of a woman,
Can't continue an hour, but's cut down like a flow'r
You see, Moses, death spareth no man.
Here Moses do look, what a confounded book,
Sure the letters are turn'd upside down,
Such a scandalous print, sure the devil's in't,
That this Baskett should print for the crown.
Prithee
