XXIII
Not less than fifty years on end,
The Squire had been the Bishop’s friend:
And his poor tenants, harmless ones,
With souls to save! fed not on buns,
But angry meats: she took her place
Outside to show the way to grace.
Not less than fifty years on end,
The Squire had been the Bishop’s friend:
And his poor tenants, harmless ones,
With souls to save! fed not on buns,
But angry meats: she took her place
Outside to show the way to grace.