This page has been validated.
8
His breath doors of life on a sudden were shut,
And he died full as big as a Dorchester butt.
His body, when long in the ground it had lain,
And time into clay had resolved it again;
A potter found out in its covert so snug,
And with part of fat Toby he form'd this brown jug.
Now sacred to friendship, to mirth and mild ale,
So here's to my lovely sweet Nan of the vale.
FINIS.
