There's a grim one-horse hearse in a jolly round trot;
To the churchyear a pauper is going I wot;
The road it is rough, and the hearse has no springs,
And hark to the dirge that the sad driver sings--
Rattle his bones over the stones,
He's only a pauper whom nobody owns.
Quotes, by Thomas Noel
, Source: The Pauper's Drive