Here lies John Hughes and Sarah Drew. Perhaps you'll say, what's that to you? Believe me, friend, much may be said On this poor couple that are dead. On Sunday next they should have married; But see how oddly things are carried. On Thursday last it rained and lightened, These tender lovers sadly frightened Sheltered beneath the cocking hay In hopes to pass the storm away. But the bold thunder found them out (Commissioned for that end no doubt) And seizing on their trembling breath Consigned them to the shades of death. Who knows if 'twas not kindly done? For had they seen the next year's sun A beaten wife and cuckold swain Had jointly cursed the marriage chain. Now they are happy in their doom For Pope has wrote upon their tomb. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LAST INVOCATION by WALT WHITMAN THE BROOK: SPRING by LAURA ABELL A MOTHER'S HEART by CHRISTOPHER BANNISTER AS MANY STARS by MATHILDE BLIND THE FLAG by GEORGE HENRY BOKER AB ASTRIS by ANNE CHARLOTTE LYNCH BOTTA OLD AND NEW; THE CENTURY ASSOCIATION, 1847-1897 by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER |