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He'd read in papers oftentimes,
Of suicides in France;
Quite made him look askance.
Him say, with anger frowning;
By poison-hanging-drowning ?"
But had not travelled far
The noted “ Pont des Arts !"
Translate the “ Bridge of Arts,” d’ye see.
Lubbers, look out !"
They heard him shout, “ That's what I call a settler—that is pison ! “But that's not all,” he cried--and quick he took
A coil of rope, and 'gan his neck to brace So tightly round, that one without a book
Might read, that he was blackening in the face ; Then leaped the bridge, with lithsome vault and clever, With “ Now I think I've hanged myself, however !"
HE COULD N'T KILL HIMSELF.
But—not enough for him—that would n't do,
So he gained this conviction by his fall :-
Said he ;
I plumped into the river down ;