Poem by Thomas Hardy

Farmer Dunman’s Funeral

‘Bury me on a Sunday,’
He said; ‘so as to see
Poor folk there. ’Tis their one day
To spare for following me.’

With forethought of that Sunday,
He wrote, while he was well,
On ten rum-bottles one day,
‘Drink for my funeral.’

They buried him on a Sunday,
That folk should not be balked
His wish, as ’twas their one day:
And forty couple walked.

They said: ‘To have it Sunday
Was always his concern;
His meaning being that one day
He’d do us a good turn.

‘We must, had it been Monday,
Have got it over soon,
But now we gain, being Sunday,
A jolly afternoon.’

1. To Carrey Clavel
2. O I Won’t Lead a Homely Life
3. When Dead
4. The Aërolite
5. The Thing Unplanned

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