Dating from the mid-nineteenth century, "The Buck's elegy" is the earliest complete text in The Rake's Lament tradition. But there are problems.

Stanza two has the Buck failing to dose himself with mercury, while stanza three has him asking the doctors to take their mercury bottles away.

The last line of stanza 3: "And into my coffin throw handfuls of funeral fine" should almost certainly read (something like) "And into my coffin throw handfuls of laurel fine".

Who were Capt.—, and Capt. Townsend?

What does "bumble mean in the line:

    Come bumble your drums, bumble them with crapes of black

-- is it simply a mistake for "muffle"?

The last TWO stanzas end with identical couplets.

So ... any thoughts would be much appreciated. Currently I'm thinking in terms of jumping the trail from the 1790 Irish fragments to "The Unfortunate Rake" (found after but not that long after the Buck). This leaves "The Buck's Elegy" as a problem, but at least as an isolated problem.

Robin

             The Buck's Elegy

As I was walking down Covent Garden,
        Listen awhile, and the truth I'll relate,
Who should I meet but my dearest comrade,
        Wrapt up in flannel, so hard was his fate.

Had I but known what his disorder was,
        Had I but known it, and took it in time,
I'd took pila cotia, all sorts of white mercury,
        But now I'm cut off in the heighth of my prime.

Doctors take away your mercury bottles,
        For I am going to draw my last breath,
And into my coffin throw handfuls of funeral fine,
        Let them all see that I die a sad death.

When I am dead wrap me up in funeral fine,
        Pinks and fine roses adorning my head,
Come all gallows whores that do mourn after me,
        Let them all follow me unto my grave.

There is Capt.— , and likewise Capt. Townsend.
        These are the men that shall hold up my pall;
Come draw up your merrymen, draw them in rank and file,
        Let them fire over me when I lay low.

Come bumble your drums, bumble them with crapes of black,
        Beat the dead march as we go along,
Come draw up your merry men, draw them in rank and file,
        Let them fire over me when I lay low.