"What treads yon bend there
'long the dreaded road?"
         Tis old man Whitney
         Set firm toward his abode.

"Has he no wits now,
And hence derives his name?"
         Nay, tis laden with them,
         E'en wittier than sane!

"Yet all his step there
Speaks of ambled brain."
         Yea, seems now to be such,
         But tis not true, tis feigned.

"But why this oldness,
This 'creped creep of bones?"
         Methinks his birthdays
         Crept o'er him quite unknown.

"Tis such a pity
Old man Whitney fails."
         True, his carcass wilts so,
         But his fair brain's full gail!