The bier he lent a shoulder to,
And made the moans about, dared scoff
At sober Christian grief—the Jew!
"'Sirs, I salute you! Never rise!
No apprehension!' (Buti, white
And trembling like a tub of size,
Had tried to smuggle out of sight
The picture's self—the thing in oils,
You know, from which a fresco 's dashed
Which courage speeds while caution spoils)