One night, or rather morn, ’tis said
The wily neighbour chose to roam,
And (Farmer Twyford far from home)
He thought he might supply his place;
And, void of ev’ry spark of grace,
Upon HIS pillow, rest his head.
The night was cold, and Father Peter,
Sent his young neighbour to entreat her,
That she would make confession free—
To Him,—his saintly deputy.