"Dear wife, I'm waxing near my end,"
The dying cobbler said;
"Soon to an upper world my soul
Its lonely way must tread.
"I fear indeed I'm pegging out;
But then what boots it, love?
Here we've been a well-fitted pair,
And so we'll be above.
"My ills I know no drugs may heel,
So it's well to prepare;
We can't run counter to our fate--
Just put a peg in there.
"The future need not give you care,
I've left my awl to you;
For deep within my inner sole
I know that you've been true.
"I've always given you your rights,
But now you must be left;
However, do not grieve too much
When of me you're bereft.
"A last farewell I now will take."
He smiled and raised his head.
"B-last the cruel malady
That lays you low," she said.
"I'll slipper away in peace," he sighed;
"The strife will soon be past."
His head fell back, he sweetly smiled,
And then he breathed his last.