"Solomon GrundyBorn on Monday,Christened on Tuesday,Married on Wednesday,Sick on Thursday,Worse on Friday,Dead on Saturday,Buried on Sunday,This was the endOf Solomon Grundy."
So sings the unpretentious MuseThat guides the quill of Mother Goose,And in one week of mortal strifePresents the epitome of Life:But down sits Billy Shakespeare next,And, coolly taking up the text,His thought pursues the trail of mine,And, lo! the "Seven Ages" shine!O world! O critics! can't you seeHow Shakespeare plagiarizes me?
And other bards will after come, To echo in a later age,"He lived, -- he died: behold the sum, The abstract of the historian's page"; --Yet once for all the thing was done, Complete in Grundy's pilgrimage.
For not a child upon the kneeBut hath the moral learned of me;And measured, in a seven days' span,The whole experience of man.
