Classic Poem

As I was walking down Covent Garden,
Listen awhile and the truth I'll declare,
Who should I meet but my dearest comrade,
Wrapped up in flannel, so hard was his fate.

Had I but known what his disorder was,
Had I but known it, and took it in time,
I'd took pila cotia, all sorts of white mercury,
But now I'm cut off in the height of my prime.

Doctors, take away your mercury bottles,
For I am going to draw my last breath,
And into my coffin throw handfuls of funeral fine,
Let them all see that I die a sad death.

When I am dead, wrap me up in funeral fine,
Pinks and fine roses adorning my head,
Come all gallows whores that do mourn after me,
Let them all follow me unto my grave.

There is Captain — — and likewise Captain Townsend,
These are the men that shall hold up my pall.
Come draw up your merry men, draw them in rank and file,
Let them fire over me when I lay low.

Come bumble your drums, bumble them with crapes of black,
Beat the dead march as we go along.
Come draw up your merry men, draw them in rank and file,
Let them fire over me when I lay low.