My uncle, honest fellow, seeing
That he was now a dying man,
Required my last respects, this being
His best, indeed, his only plan.
The plan may be worth imitating;
The boredom is excruciating.
Sit by a sick-bed night and day
And never move a step away.
With what low cunning one tries madly
To amuse a man who’s half alive,
Adjust his pillows, and contrive
To bring his medicine to him sadly,
Then sigh, while proffering the spoon,
‘Let’s hope the devil takes you soon.