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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421415" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>On the University Carrier</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who sickened in the time of his Vacancy, being forbid to go to London by reason of the Plague.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Here lies old Hobson. Death hath broke his girt, <br>And here, alas! hath laid him in the dirt; <br>Or else, the ways being foul, twenty to one <br>He’s here stuck in a slough, and overthrown. <br>’T was such a shifter that, if truth were known, <br>Death was half glad when he had got him down; <br>For he had any time this ten years full <br>Dodged with him betwixt Cambridge and The Bull. <br>And surely Death could never have prevailed, <br>Had not his weekly course of carriage failed; <br>But lately, finding him so long at home, <br>And thinking now his journey’s end was come, <br>And that he had ta’en up his latest Inn, <br>In the kind office of a Chamberlin <br>Showed him his room where he must lodge that night, <br>Pulled off his boots, and took away the light. <br>If any ask for him, it shall be said, <br>“Hobson has supped, and ’s newly gone to bed.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Milton">John Milton</a><div class=q>
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Here lies old Hobson. Death hath broke his girt, 
And here, alas! hath laid him in the dirt; 
Or else, the ways being foul, twenty to one 
He’s here..."></div>
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