JOSEPHINE
The presbytery has gone to pot since this house-keeper came;
She’s up-to-date and stylish, but the place is not the same
Since Death’s hard summons robbed me of the sterling old machine,
That wore out in my service here—my faithful Josephine.
Poor Josephine, she knew me well—and, faith, she ought to know;
For since the bishop sent me here, some thirty years ago,
My one and only manager, my right-hand man she’d been;
I never had a word against my trusted Josephine.
She pottered round the place herself for thirty years and more—