Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold. - Thomas Hood

Our very hopes belied our fears, Our fears our hopes belied;
We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died.

His death which happened in his berth,
At forty-odd befell:
They went and told the sexton, and
The sexton tolled the bell.

No solemn sanctimonious face I pull, Nor think I'm pious when I'm only bilious; Nor study in my sanctum supercilious,
To frame a Sabbath Bill or forge a Bull.