His gite was golden gay with streakis blak. Chaucer.
Who kill'd Kok Robyn? I did, said Fanny; I was set on by Danny:It was I kill'd Kok Robyn.
Who heard his groans? I did, said Union; And growl'd in communionWhile picking my bones.
Who saw him die? I did, said Jack, As I lay on my backWide awake in one eye.
Who's Funeral Boss? I am, said Nelly, Though my heart's all a jelly,A-quake at his loss.
Who'll dig his grave? I will, said Father, Unless you would ratherHave some stranger knave.
Who'll bear the pall? I will, said Timothy; I'll mind a limb o' thee:So the chickens said all.
Who'll be chief mourner? I, said O'Donoghue; And no mother's son o' you''ll do it forlorner.
Who'll sing the psalm? We will, said the Mice; It will be real nice,We're so blessedly calm.
And who'll set the tune? We will, chirp'd the Birds: Don't ask us for words,But we'll manage a tune.
Who'll preach the sermon? I will, prosed a Rat; I have it quite patFrom the text Cats are vermin.
Here ends our first story, One taile of Kok Robyn: Let us all stop our sobbin'!We hope he's in glory.
Sir Kok's epitaph Will be utter'd by Leo, And his death-song. Laus Deo!Let no one laugh!
