Being so meek and mild and merciful,
So fond o' the poor and so fatigued of earth,
So ... fifty thousand devils in deepest hell!
Why must he cure us of our strange conceit
Of the angel in man's likeness, that we loved
And looked should help us at a pinch? He help?
He pardon? Here 's his mind and message—death!
Thank the good Pope! Now, is he good in this,
Never mind, Christian,—no such stuff 's extant,—
But will my death do credit to his reign,