On the Death of a Late FAMOUS GENERAL <br /> <br /> <br />His Grace! impossible! what dead! <br />Of old age, too, and in his bed! <br />And could that Mighty Warrior fall? <br />And so inglorious, after all! <br />Well, since he's gone, no matter how, <br />The last loud trump must wake him now: <br />And, trust me, as the noise grows stronger, <br />He'd wish to sleep a little longer. <br />And could he be indeed so old <br />As by the news-papers we're told? <br />Threescore, I think, is pretty high; <br />'Twas time in conscience he should die. <br />This world he cumber'd long enough; <br />He burnt his candle to the snuff; <br />And that's the reason, some folks think, <br />He left behind so great a stink. <br />Behold his funeral appears, <br />Nor widow's sighs, nor orphan's tears, <br />Wont at such times each heart to pierce, <br />Attend the progress of his hearse. <br />But what of that, his friends may say, <br />He had those honours in his day. <br />True to his profit and his pride, <br />He made them weep before he dy'd. <br /> Come hither, all ye empty things, <br />Ye bubbles rais'd by breath of Kings; <br />Who float upon the tide of state, <br />Come hither, and behold your fate. <br />Let pride be taught by this rebuke, <br />How very mean a thing's a Duke; <br />From all his ill-got honours flung, <br />Turn'd to that dirt from whence he sprung.<br /><br />Jonathan Swift<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-satirical-elegy/
