Where John, by Roger’s brick-bat, chance’d to fall,
And Roger had a key that could undo it;
Thro’ this same door, at any time of day,
They brought, into the Convent, corn, and hay;——
Sometimes, at dusk, a pretty girl came thro’ it:
Just to confess herself, to some grave codger;
Perhaps, she came to John,—perhaps, to Roger.
Out at this portal Roger made a shift
To lug his worst of foes:
For, seizing (as the gout was wont) his toes,