There was a man, if that he was a man,

Not that his manhood could be called in question,

For had he not been Hercules, his span

Had been as short in youth as indigestion

Made his last illness, when, all worn and wan,

He died beneath a tree, as much unblest on

The soil of the green province he had wasted,

As e'er was locust on the land it blasted.