My body, eh? Friend Death, how now?
  Why all this tedious pomp of writ?
Thou hast reclaimed it sure and slow
  For half a century, bit by bit.

In faith thou knowest more to-day
  Than I do, where it can be found!
This shrivelled lump of suffering clay,
  To which I now am chained and bound,

Has not of kith or kin a trace...