Félix Rándal the fárrier,
O is he déad then? my dúty all énded,
Who have watched his mould of man, bigboned and
Pining, pining, till time when reason rambled in it, and
Fatal four disorders, fleshed there, all contended?
Sickness broke him.
Impatient, he cursed at first, but
Being anointed and all; though a heavenlier heart began
Months earlier, since I had our sweet reprieve and
Tendered to him.
Ah well,
God rest him all road ever he offended!
This seeing the sick endears them to us, us too it endears.
My tongue had taught thee comfort, touch had quenched thy tears,
Thy tears that touched my heart, child,
Felix, poor Felix Randal;
How far from then forethought of, all thy more boisterous years,
When thou at the random grim forge, powerful amidst peers,
Didst fettle for the great grey drayhorse his bright and battering sandal!
