  COMPOSED ON READING A DIARY LATELY PUBLISHED.THAT flesh is grass is now as clear as day, To any but the merest purblind pup; Death cuts it down, and then, to make her hay, My Lady B—— comes and rakes it up. THE LAST WISH.When I resign this world so briary, To have across the Styx my ferrying, Oh, may I die without a DIARY! And be interr’d without a BURY-ing! THE poor dear dead have been laid out in vain, Turn’d into cash, they are laid out again! |
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