Poem of the day

Original Epitath on a Drunkard
by Royall Tyler (1757-1826)

Pray who lies here? why don’t you know,
‘Tis stammering, staggering, boozy Joe;
What, dead at last? I thought that death
Could never stop his long long breath.
True, death ne’er threw his dart at him,
But kill’d, like David, with a sling:
Whither he’s gone we do not know,
With spirits above or spirits below:—
But, if he former taste inherits,
He’s quaffing in a world of spirits.

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