Written in the Infirmary of Westminster Prison, when not
expecting to recover, March, 1850.
Behold! unto my death bed sent,
The notary draw near;
And, eager for my testament,
Each heritor appear.
The pen impatient sickness holds,
And Truth and Conscience read;
While Life the page reluctant folds-
In witness of the deed.
“Now, fathful, ye to every one
His heritage consign;
My faults unto Oblivion;
My virtues unto Time;
“My memory to Pity’s care;
To Love my latest breath;
And gladly give the largest share-
My pains and woes-to Death.
”My body to the leafy sod
Where warmest lies the light;
My soul to the eternal God!
And to the world-Good night!”
‘Twas ended-but contention strange
Rose ere his eyes had closed:
Oblivion tried with Time to change-
But Pity interposed.
(Ernest Jones)
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