Dying in New York He lay for ten years in a lonely grave Somewhere along the Hudson, I believe. No grave yard in the city would receive him. Neither a banker nor a friend of banks, Nor falling in a duel to awake Indignant sorrow, space in Trinity Was not so much as offered. He was poor, And never had a tomb like Washington. Of course he wasn't Washington--but still, Study that skull a little! In ten years A mad admirer living here in England Went to America and dug him up, And brought his bones to Liverpool. Just then Our country was in turmoil over France-- (The details are so rich I lose my head, And can't construct my acts.)--hell's flaming here, And we are fighting back the roaring fire That France had lighted. England would abort The era she embraced. Here is a point That vexes me in laying out the scenes, And persons of the play. For parliament Went into fury that these bones were here On British soil. The city raged. They took The poor town-crier, gave him nine months' prison For crying on the streets the bones' arrival. I'd like to put that crier in my play. The scene of his arrest would thrill, in case I put it on a background understood, And showing why the fellow was arrested, And what a high offence to heaven it was. Then here's another thing: The monument This zealous friend had planned was never raised. The city wouldn't have it--you can guess The brain that filled this skull and moved this hand Had given England trouble. Yes, believe me! He roused rebellion and he scattered pamphlets. He had the English gift of writing pamphlets. He stirred up peoples with his English gift Against the mother country. How to show this In action, not in talk, is difficult. Well, then here is our friend who has these bones And cannot honor them in burial. And so he keeps them, then becomes a bankrupt. And look! the bones pass to our friend's receiver. Are they an asset? Our Lord Chancellor Does not regard them so. I'd like to work Some humor in my drama at this point, And satirize his lordship just a little. Though you can scarcely call a skull an asset If it be of a man who helped to cost you The loss of half the world. So the receiver Cast out the bones and for a time a laborer Took care of them. He sold them to a man Who dealt in furniture. The empty coffin About this time turned up in Guilford--then It's 1854, the man is dead Near forty years, when just the skull and hand Are owned by Rev. Ainslie, who evades All questions touching on that ownership, And where the ribs, spine, arms and thigh bones are-- The rest in short.