The Pope puts meat i' the mouth of, ravens they,

And providence he—just what the mob admires!

That is, instead of putting a prompt foot

On selfish worthless human slugs whose slime

Has failed to lubricate their path in life,

Why, the Pope picks the first ripe fruit that falls

And gracious puts it in the vermin's way.

Pietro could never save a dollar? Straight

He must be subsidized at our expense:

And for his wife—the harmless household sheep