L'Envoi.

I'm the ghost of that poor gobbler Who used to be so great, They took my poor, neglected bones And piled them on a plate. Reader, shed a kindly tear For my unhappy fate. This is the common lot of all Upon the world's great chart; We've got to leave a pile of bones— The stupid and the smart. Even when Napoleon died He left a Bonaparte. We are merely puppets Moving on a string, And when we think that we are IT, The axe will fall—"Gezing!" O, Grave, where is thy victory? O, Death, where is thy sting?