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THE PAUPER'S DRIVE. |
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There's a grim one-horse hearse in a jolly round
trot, To the churchyard a pauper is going, I wot. The road it is rough, and the hearse has no
springs, And hark to the dirge which the sad driver sings : 44 Rattle his bones over the stones : He's only a pauper whom nobody owns !" |
Oh, where are the mourners ? alas 1 there are
none: He has left not a gap in the world, now he's gone; Not a tear in the eye of child, woman, or man, To the grave with his carcass as fast as you
can. " Rattle his bones over the stones; He's only a pauper whom nobody owns! " |
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