Till the Abbot requested he'd walk in instead,
When he took to his heels and ran off with his head,
And as fast out of sight as a pickpocket fled.
"Fetch him back!" cried the Abbot, in thundering tone,
And far swifter than light'ning the monks out have flown;
Oh, such speed you'd have thought that they never could own!
It is true that old Peter kept quite in the rear,
Still he bustled along though without an idea
Of beholding the sport till his friends brought it near.
Yet 'tis true (though you choose to believe it or not),