Classic Poem

Joe is dead? Of course he is,
Dead as any nail can be,
Look upon that face of his —
See, if you are sober, see
The unutterable peace
Stamped upon his countenance —
See, and let your prattle cease,
Give the dead man half a chance.

Joe is dead? Of course he 's dead;
Hair dishevelled on his brow,
Lay him on the model bed,
Nought avails to wake him now.
See, the jar is almost full —
Look, I 've piles and piles of dough —
Moleskin, have another pull.
Not an answer. Poor — old — Joe.

Give the fallen man his due,
He was one that always could
Take a modest pint or two,
Just as any navvy should,
Do a week or two in jile,
Strike a bargain with a fence,
Fight his man in perfect style,
Play the game, and stump the pence.

Poor old Joe is lying dead
Drunk as e'er a man can be,
Lay some lager near his head
So when waking he may see —
Softly let us go to sleep,
Be your voices hushed and low.
Hark his snoring loud and deep —
Peace be with your slumber, Joe.