He raised his legs with mighty pain,
And then,—he set them down again.
’Tis whisper’d—but my cautious muse
Will not forget her P’s. and Q’s.:
I’ll not indulge in retrospections,
But leave him to his own reflections:
The darling babe of grace I’ll spare;
For other holy souls were there.
Mark, then, the next, another priest,
Starv’d a whole month for this day’s feast;