Cried the Saint, 'by the gods!
I'll stake what you please, only say what your wish is.'
Said the devil, 'By Jove!
You're a sporting old cove!
My pick to your soul,
I'll make such a hole,
That where Poynings now stands, shall be swimming the fishes.'
'Done!' cried the Saint, 'but I must away
I have a penitent to confess;
In an hour I'll come to see fair play—