A _Son Singing_ at his _Mother_’s _Funeral_.
There was a Good Man that follow’d his Wives Body to the Grave, Weeping,
and Wayling all the Way he went, while his Son follow’d the Corps,
Singing. Why Sirrah, says the Father, You should Howle, and Wring your
Hands, and do as I do, ye Rogue You; and not go _Sol-Fa-ing_ it about
like a Mad-man. Why Father, says he, You give the Priests Money to Sing,
and will you be Angry with Me for giving ye a Song _Gratis_? Well, says
the Father, but that which may become the Priests will not always become
You. ’Tis their Office to Sing; but it is Your Part to Cry.
The MORAL.
_Funeral Tears are as Arrantly Hir’d out as Mourning Cloaks: and so are
the very Offices: And whether we go to our Graves Sniveling or Singing,
’tis all but according to the Fashion of the Country, and meer Form._