A rev'rence his rev'rence would always have paid;
For deep in his bosom he cherished the hope,
That, some day or other, they would make him the Pope.
Now the Abbot was tall, and so terribly thin,
That victuals scarce ever, you'd think, were asked in
To fill up the gap 'twixt the bones and the skin.
The little of hair he had left on his crown
Was a dingy short circle of snuff-colour'd brown,
Which straight as the ribs of umbrella hung down.
His teeth good as new were, for, little in use,