On the Funeral of ⸺, in a Hearse and Six, Followed by a Mourning Coach and Four

What, SAVE-ALL in a Hearse convey’d! And six brave Nags to draw the Dead! ’Tis ruin!—Why, ’tis more by five Than e’er convey’d him while alive. And look, what follows!—more and more Profusion, in a Coach and Four!

Such waste of what thou liv’dst to save, Might break the quiet of thy Grave. In what slow pomp the Rogues advance, Courting, as ’twere, Extravagance! O! the vast charge of every night! They revel, and set nothing by ’t; But give to have thee lie in state, More than thou e’er paid’st there for meat. What else?—their dead and useless load They carry on the Turnpike road, Paying—but they care nothing, they, How many Gates there be to pay.— Plague on the Gates! how thick they are! Five pounds will soon be squander’d here. Another—and another yet! And Half-a-crown at every Gate; Those Gates which thou didst alway shun, To save thy Pence from every one. Alas! this needless cost is more Than all th’ extravagance before! To stop such charge, at least, arise And show them—where the Bye-way lies!