Hurrah! he won the race that day, and everything for him went right, And surreptitiously he cursed and swore, and cursed again that night. A painful shocking thing, that men should stoop to acts like this, for fame or pelf. Thro' all my friends there's not a man would act so shocking but himself. His calender grew bright again with fortune's sunlight o'er it cast, But there must be an end to such, and retribution comes at last. His aunt returned to town again; he gave her back her cockatoo, 'Twere better he had slain him first; it's what, I think, and so will you. One day a mortuary note did come--alas! his aunt was dead! He buried her with decent haste, and then her latest will was read. But by that testament, he found that he had not been left her purse, It intimated this, that he had taught her cockatoo to curse! It intimated this, that she thro' that, had met her death, alas; And in a codicil expressed a wish they'd send the bird to grass. No mortal eye but his, beheld the deed he then essayed to do-- 'Twas murder! for he wrung the neck of his dead aunt, her cockatoo, No mortal eye beheld the deed; but things again with him went queer, Till one day looking down the street, he saw a stranger prowling near. The man who told him thus to swear, 'twas on a dark November eve, He knew that stranger held a secret stone for him inside his sleeve; He knew that he had run a score of heavy debt, was due for sin, And darting back, he closed the door. Said he to Bridget "I'm not in. Just say that I am out," said he, and quickly up the stairs he flew, The stranger knocked. "Ah, let me see," and up the stairs he mounted, too. The servant sneaked the key-hole then, and saw a struggle on the bed, Then ran below--"Mavrone, asthore, come up, agrah, the lodger's dead!" * * * * * The moral is of gentlemen you do not know, you should beware: You should not use your bedroom, for a hiding-place, to curse, and swear. To curse a harmless constable upon his beat, is even worse; 'Twas he who caught the jurymen, who gave the verdict on his corse. That shocking room is haunted now; it may not raise a shock in you, But every dark November eve, there comes a shrouded cockatoo, And gliding in his pallid shirt, a wretched spectre doth rehearse, The record of his oathings dire! the cockatoo then shrieks a curse! The man of easy habits then will see the deadly deed anew, Of how the neck was wrung by him, who slew his aunt, her cockatoo. The man of easy habits then, will see the evil sprite of gloom, Come prowling for his guilty soul, and bear it down the trap of doom.