The whole of the frontage shaven sheer,

The inside gaped: exposed to day,

Right and wrong and common and queer,

Bare, as the palm of your hand, it lay.

The owner? Oh, he had been crushed, no doubt!

"Odd tables and chairs for a man of wealth!

What a parcel of musty old books about!

He smoked,—no wonder he lost his health!

"I doubt if he bathed before he dressed.

A brasier?—the pagan, he burned perfumes!