He humbly exclaimed, whilst his head he was scratching.
"Pray do me the honour to step just into
This bit of a dwelling—it p'rhaps may want thatching;
Still the holes in the roof make the fire burn better,
Though rain, than is pleasant oft makes us much wetter."
"No, what I would say I will speak here outside,—
'Tis of the old lady who yesternight died."
"She dead! Oh no, no! Though I oft wished she were,
Still yonder she sits in the corner down there,
On the edge of a tub, for want of a chair."