Till he secure that prize, outweighs the world,
A soul, relieve the sentry of his qualm!
His Altitude the Referendary—
Robed right, and ready for the usher's word
To pay devoir—is, of all times, just then
'Ware of a master-stroke of argument
Will cut the spinal cord ... ugh, ugh!... I mean,
Paralyze Molinism forevermore!
Straight he leaves lobby, trundles, two and two,
Down steps to reach home, write, if but a word