Classic Poem

Now my life is almost spent
I will make my testament,
Showering gifts as Christians ought;
Not a foe shall be forgot.

To my adversaries, highly
Thought of people, I bequeath
All the maladies that seethe
In this body tortured vilely.

Ye shall be my heirs, and languish
With this colic, know the anguish
Of these Prussian piles perfidious,
And this strangury as hideous.

Yes, my cramp, convulsions even,
Ye shall have; my salivation
And my spinal inflammation:
Each and all, the gift of Heaven.

And the codicil shall run:
May the Lord, when you are rotten
Cause your name to be forgotten,
And to perish 'neath the sun.