the goblet of vitriol

the galliard that we jirate round the bonfire,

when the warmth of wealth surrounds life

but now dauntful have we become

as the throe of threnody is insolent to man,

and despises man-fate cares less

clouding upon our skin wan woes,and scabs

then so soon this noose of agony garrotes us

smearing over our affairs,in tumult we drown

with our scythe we are forced to reap

from the fields where the vultures feed,

or the barn where the bats swoops,and loops

clearly now this fardel of ill fortune is weighted upon,

such a cumber load that opts this tardy movement-

when you taste from this chalise of catastrophe