The Burial
Will’s ferret was buried this morn:
When Samuel came down from his bed,
He whisper’d, with aspect forlorn,
“O, Kitty, Will’s ferret is dead.”
And Kitty soon told it to Mark,
And Mark to the rest of his clan,
We sorrow’d with visages dark,
As if we were mourning a man.
“Com, Ann, let us lay her to rest,
And you must prepare us a bier:
We will heap the cold earth on her breast;”
And we wlped from our eyelids a tear.
So Ann made a coffin so small,
Of cast-off brown paper and thread:
This served for a shroud and a pall, -
False trappings, unknown to the dead.
And Samuel was sexton and clerk,
And Benjamin bearer so brave,
While Kitty, and Jacob, and Mark
Soon bore her away to the grave.
My mother was curious now,
And so she came softly behind.
Well pleased with her children, I trow,
Who to the poor brute were so kind.
’Neath the hawthorn its grave was dug deep,
With sharp-pointed pickaxe and spade.
Lie down, little ferret, and sleep
On the couch that affection has made.
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