To the rest in a lesser degree.—
All but Murphy, who ne'er
Seemed to have the least care
What Fate or what Justice decree.
But the Jury return, and the maid droops her head,
While her fair bosom heaves with a feeling of dread;
As nigh breathless she listens the verdict to hear,
Which shall fill her with transports of pleasure or fear.
"And pray what's your decision?" the Abbot inquired;
In the tones of a pig who has, murdered, expired.