Little Willie from the mirror
Licked the mercury right off,
Thinking, in his childish error,
It would cure the whooping cough.

At the funeral, his mother
Smartly said to Mrs Brown,
"'Twas a chilly day for Willie
When the mercury went down."

Willie, in one of his bright new sashes,
Fell in the fire and was burnt to ashes.
Now, although the room grows chilly,
I haven't the heart to poke poor Willie.

E. Gorey's book _The Listing Attic_ has limericks in a similar vein:

The partition of Salvador Scowles
Was a sickener: They came on his bowels
In a firkin. His brain
Was found clogging a drain,
And his toes were wrapped up in some towels.