Here lies poor Thomas, and his Wife,
Who led a pretty jarring life;
But all is ended--do you see?
He holds his tongue, and so does she.
If drugs and physic could but save
Us mortals from the dreary grave,
'Tis known that I took full enough
Of the apothecaries' stuff
To have prolong'd life's busy feast
To a full century at least;
But spite of all the doctors' skill,
Of daily draught and nightly pill,
Reader, as sure as you're alive,
I was sent here at twenty-five.
* * * * *