Here lies old Hobson, Death hath broke his girt, And here alas, hath laid him in the dirt, Or els the ways being foul, twenty to one, He's here stuck in a slough, and overthrown. 'Twas such a shifter, that if truth were known, Death was half glad when he had got him down; For he had any time this ten yeers full, Dodg'd with him, betwixt Cambridge and the Bull. And surely, Death could never have prevail'd, Had not his weekly cours of carriage fail'd; But lately finding him so long at home, And thinking now his journeys end was come, And that he had tane up his latest Inne, In the kind office of a Chamberlin Shew'd him his room where he must lodge that night, Pull'd off his Boots, and took away the light: If any ask for him, it shall be sed, Hobson has supt, and 's newly gon to bed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GASCOIGNE'S WOODMANSHIP by GEORGE GASCOIGNE CARRION COMFORT by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS THE PLUMPUPPETS by CHRISTOPHER DARLINGTON MORLEY MY LITTLE GIRL by SAMUEL MINTURN PECK LONDON, 1802 (2) by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 43. ALL GRASP, ALL LOSE by PHILIP AYRES HAPPY CHRISTMASTIDE by GERTRUDE ELOISE BEALER |