Written here lies Death
Stolen from thorny bed
To ohcre hills supreme
Listen, Hark his corny scream.

Where ist thy rest
Thy nest
Thou bubonic plague
Thou quenchless drought
Thou fierant rage

Speaks silent midst of hill
Least silent under my windowsill

Aught but light takes this cheery gill
Not Death’s wide spread
Despite it’s fevered ill
In many minds doth overtake
In simple minds, an earthquake.
But gathered in our princely arms..
Big F You to these ailing qualms.