The Slow, Mirthiful Death

of Lord Punster

 

 

Lord Punster and Lord Killjoy fought

   A taut duel neath the sun;

And all because Lord Killjoy shot

   His mouth off on the pun.

 

Their lordships clashed, their blades cold-flashed,

   The barbs flew all around;

And soon one lord stood pale, aghast,

   One lord lay pale, aground.

 

Yet on that clay, whereon he lay,

   Fast sinking like the sun,

Lord Punster, vain, disdained to pray,

   To gain his dying pun:

 

“Before, my Lord, in point of fact,

   I deemed you were mistaken;

But you put forth your point, with tact,

   And, sir—it is well taken!

 

“The love of jest ran through my life

   Like bees, before one stung;

My rapier wit cut like a wife,

   Still sharper flashed my tongue.

 

“My punning plays on words—you heard!

   Were skewering repartee;

Of lightning thrust—yet, sans a word,

   You got the edge on me!

 

“O cold Sir Prize!—how deep it lies!

   Where all my life lies coiled;

No more, this earth, shall Mirth uprise,

   So mortally am I foiled.

 

“Farewell! Farewell! my bed is made,

   My blood runs, worm and thick!

You proved to be a gay young blade,

   —And cut me all to quick!

 

“Though soon my flesh shall be interred,

   My soul shall, ever true,

Cry, in the end, my dying word

   Got cutting edge on you!

 

“My lord, I lie cold on the sward

   —How deep is irony!

For each sad eye can see the sword

   Lies deep—and cold—in me!

 

“My lord, my life is sped and done,

   I die cold on the sward;

Yet still, Killjoy, I swear the pun

   Is mytear than the sword!

 

HIS EPITAPH:

                

“O lords of life, when I have gone,

   Keep live my memory;

O ladies rife, when I am wan,

   Weep softly down on me.

 

“O sexton gaunt, when Death has won,

   Heap cold earth on me droll;

O Lord, when straightway this is done,

   Heap warm mirth on my soul.”