The Humourous Poetry of the English Language

237
For God's sake gently tread the room,
Nor call her from the blessed--
In softest silence drop the tear,
In whispers breathe the fervent prayer,
To bid her spirit rest.
Repress the sad, the wounding scream;
I can not bear a grief extreme--
Enough one little sigh--
Besides, the loud alarm of grief,
In many a mind may start belief,
Our noise is all a lie.
Good nurses, shroud my lamb with care;
Her limbs, with gentlest fingers, spare,
Her mouth, ah! slowly close;
Her mouth a magic tongue that held--
Whose softest tone, at times, compelled
To peace my loudest woes.
And, carpenter, for my sad sake,
Of stoutest oak her coffin make--
I'd not be stingy, sure--
Procure of steel the strongest screws,
For who could paltry pence refuse
To lodge his wife secure?
Ye people who the corpse convey,
With caution tread the doleful way,
Nor shake her precious head;
Since Fame reports a coffin tossed,
With careless swing against a post,
Did once, disturb the dead.
Farewell, my love, forever lost!
Ne'er troubled be thy gentle ghost,
That I again will woo--
By all our past delights, my dear,
No more the marriage chain I'll wear,
Deil take me if I do!