L'ENVOI.

I'm the ghost of that poor gobbler

Who used to be so great,

They took my poor, neglected bones

And piled them on a plate.

Reader, shed a kindly tear

For my unhappy fate.

This is the common lot of all

Upon the world's great chart;

We've got to leave a pile of bones —

The stupid and the smart.

Even when Napoleon died

He left a Bonaparte.

We are merely puppets

Moving on a string,

And when we think that we are IT,

The axe will fall — “Gezing!”

O, Grave, where is thy victory?

O, Death, where is thy sting?