Classic Poem

To mournful ditties, Clio, change thy note,
Since cruel fate hath sunk our Justice Boat;
Why should he sink where nothing seemed to press?
His lading little, and his ballast less.
Tossed in the waves of this tempestuous world,
At length, his anchor fixed, and canvas furled,
To Lazy Hill retiring from his court,
At his Ring's End he founders in the port.
With water filled he could no longer float,
The common death of many a stronger boat.

A post so filled, on nature's laws entrenches;
Benches on boats are placed, not Boats on benches.
And yet our boat, how shall I reconcile it?
Was both a boat, and in one sense a pilot.
With every wind he sailed, and well could tack:
Had many pendants, but abhorred a jack.
He's gone, although his friends began to hope
That he might yet be lifted by a rope.

Behold the awful bench, on which he sat,
He was as hard, and ponderous wood as that:
Yet, when his sand was out, we find at last,
That, death has overset him with a blast.
Our Boat is now sailed to the Stygian ferry,
There to supply old Charon's leaky wherry:
Charon in him will ferry souls to hell;
A trade, our Boat has practised here so well.
And, Cerberus hath ready in his paws,
Both pitch and brimstone to fill up his flaws;
Yet, spite of death and fate, I here maintain
We may place Boat in his old post again.
The way is thus; and well deserves your thanks:
Take the three strongest of his broken planks,
Fix them on high, conspicuous to be seen,
Formed like the triple tree near Stephen's Green;
And when we view it thus, with thief at end on't,
We'll cry; look, here's our Boat, and there's the pendant.
THE EPITAPH

Here lies Judge Boat within a coffin.
Pray gentlefolks forbear your scoffing.
A boat a judge! yes, where's the blunder?
A wooden judge is no such wonder.
And in his robes, you must agree,
No boat was better decked than he.
'Tis needless to describe him fuller.
In short, he was an able sculler.