| |
| A DOLEFUL 1 tale prepare to hear, | |
| As ever yet was told: | |
| The like, perhaps, ne’er reach’d the ear | |
| Of either young or old. | |
| ’T is of the sad and woeful death | 5 |
| Of one of mighty fame, | |
| Who lately hath resign’d his breath; | |
| Old Tenor was his name. | |
| |
| In vain ten thousands intercede, | |
| To keep him from the grave; | 10 |
| In vain, his many good works plead; | |
| Alas! they cannot save. | |
| The powers decree, and die he must, | |
| It is the common lot, | |
| But his good deeds, when he’s in dust, | 15 |
| Shall never be forgot. | |
| |
| He made our wives and daughters fine, | |
| And pleased everybody: | |
| He gave the rich their costly wine, | |
| The poor their flip and toddy. | 20 |
| The laborer he set to work; | |
| In ease maintain’d the great: | |
| He found us mutton, beef, and pork, | |
| And everything we eat. | |
| |
| To fruitful fields, by swift degrees, | 25 |
| He turn’d our desert land: | |
| Where once nought stood but rocks and trees, | |
| Now spacious cities stand. | |
| He built us houses, strong and high, | |
| Of wood, and brick, and stone; | 30 |
| The furniture he did supply; | |
| But now, alas! he ’s gone. | |
| |
| The merchants too, those topping folks, | |
| To him owe all their riches; | |
| Their ruffles, lace, and scarlet cloaks, | 35 |
| And eke their velvet breeches. | |
| He launch’d their ships into the main, | |
| To visit distant shores; | |
| And brought them back, full fraught with gain, | |
| Which much increased their stores. | 40 |
| |
| Led on by him our soldiers bold, | |
| Against the foe advance; | |
| And took, in spite of wet and cold, | |
| Strong Cape Breton from France. | |
| Who from that fort the French did drive, | 45 |
| Shall he so soon be slain? | |
| While they, alas! remain alive, | |
| Who gave it back again. | |
| |
| From house to house, and place to place, | |
| In paper doublet clad, | 50 |
| He pass’d, and where he show’d his face, | |
| He made the heart full glad. | |
| But cruel death, that spareth none, | |
| Hath robbed us of him too; | |
| Who through the land so long hath gone, | 55 |
| No longer now must go. | |
| |
| In senate he, like Cæsar, fell, | |
| Pierced through with many a wound, | |
| He sunk, ah, doleful tale to tell! | |
| The members sitting round: | 60 |
| And ever since that fatal day, | |
| Oh! had it never been, | |
| Closely confined at home he lay, | |
| And scarce was ever seen, | |
| |
| Until the last of March, when he | 65 |
| Submitted unto fate; | |
| In anno regis twentythree, | |
| Ætatis fortyeight. | |
| For ever gloomy be that day, | |
| When he gave up the ghost; | 70 |
| For by his death, oh! who can say, | |
| What hath New England lost? | |
| |
| Then, good Old Tenor, fare thee well, | |
| Since thou art dead and gone; | |
| We mourn thy fate, e’en while we tell | 75 |
| The good things thou hast done. | |
| Since the bright beams of yonder sun, | |
| Did on New England shine, | |
| In all the land, there ne’er was known | |
| A death so mourn’d as thine. | 80 |
| |
| Of every rank are many seen, | |
| Thy downfal to deplore; | |
| For ’t is well known that thou hast been | |
| A friend to rich and poor. | |
| We ’ll o’er thee raise a silver tomb, | 85 |
| Long may that tomb remain, | |
| To bless our eyes for years to come, | |
| But wishes, ah! are vain. | |
| |
| And so God bless our noble state, | |
| And save us all from harm, | 90 |
| And grant us food enough to eat, | |
| And clothes to keep us warm. | |
| Send us a lasting peace, and keep | |
| The times from growing worse; | |
| And let us all in safety sleep, | 95 |
| With silver in our purse. | |
