On Monday, March 17th, 1828, Grimaldi took his farewell benefit at Sadler's Wells, when he delivered an address, and the whole concluded "with a brilliant display of fireworks, expressive of Grimaldi's thanks." He, however, played a short time in 1832, and then quitted the Wells finally. After this premature retirement from the stage, poor Joe lived at No. 33, Southampton Street, Pentonville, in a house which was furnished for him by his friends. At this time he frequented the coffee-room of the Marquis of Cornwallis tavern, the proprietor of which, considering his infirmity, or the loss of the use of his lower extremity, used to fetch him on his back, and take him home in the same manner. On May 31st, 1837, he was thus brought to the coffee-room and seemed quite exhilarated, his conversation, and humour, and anecdotes smacking of the vivacity of former years. He was carried home as usual; he retired to rest, and next morning was found dead in his bed. On June 5th, he was buried in the ground of St. James's Chapel, Pentonville, next to the grave of his friend, Charles Dibdin: his grave-stone states his age at fifty-eight years. Thomas Hood wrote this touching "Ode to Joseph Grimaldi, senior," upon his retirement:-- "Joseph! they say thou'st left the stage To toddle down the hill of life, And taste the flannell'd ease of age Apart from pantomimic strife. 'Retir'd' (for Young would call it so)-- 'The world shut out'--in Pleasant Row. "And hast thou really washt at last, From each white cheek the red half-moon? And all thy public clownship cast, To play the private pantaloon? All youth--all ages--yet to be, Shall have a heavy miss of thee. "Thou didst not preach to make us wise-- Thou hadst no finger in our schooling-- Thou didst not lure us to the skies; Thy simple, simple trade was--Fooling! And yet, Heav'n knows! we could--we can Much 'better spare a better man!' * * * * * "But Joseph--everybody's Joe-- Is gone; and grieve I will and must! As Hamlet did for Yorick, so Will I for thee (though not yet dust): And talk as he did when he missed The kissing crust, that he had kiss'd! "Ah, where is now thy rolling head! Thy winking, reeling, _drunken_ eyes, (As old Catullus would have said), Thy oven-mouth, that swallow'd pies-- Enormous hunger--monstrous drowth! Thy pockets greedy as thy mouth! "Ah! where thy ears so often cuff'd! Thy funny, flapping, filching hands! Thy partridge body always stuff'd With waifs and strays and contrabands! Thy foot, like Berkeley's Foote--for why? 'Twas often made to wipe an eye.