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Although in chains you see me fast.
No frown upon my friends you'll cast,
For my relations were not to blame,
And I brought my parents to grief and shame.
Now, all you ramblers, in mourning go,
For the Prince of Ramblers is lying low;
And all you maidens, who love the ⟨game⟩
Put on your mourning veils again.
And all you powers of music chaunt,
To the memory of my dying rant—
A song of melancholy sing,
Till you make the very rafters ring.
Farewell relations, and friends also,
The time is come that I must go;
As for foes, I have but one,
But to the same I’ve done no wrong.
FINIS
