I awoke one day to find myself famous.

The world is a bundle of hay, Mankind are the asses that pull, Each tugs in a different way And the greatest of all is John Bull!

The cold, the changed, perchance the dead, anew, The mourn'd, the loved, the lost,-too many, yet how few!

I have seen a thousand graves opened, and always perceived that whatever was gone, the teeth and hair remained of those who had died with them. Is not this odd? They go the very first things in youth and yet last the longest in the dust.

He learned the arts of riding, fencing, gunnery, And how to scale a fortress - or a nunnery.

Who falls from all he knows of bliss, Cares little into what abyss.

Had sigh'd to many, though he loved but one.