A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS.
And, while "sour-kraut" she sells you, the Landlady tells you That there, in those walls, now all roofless and bare, One Simon, a Deacon, from a lean grew a sleek one, On filling a ci-devant Abbot's state chair.
How a ci-devant Abbot, all clothed in drab, but Of texture the coarsest, hair shirt, and no shoes, (His mitre and ring, and all that sort of thing Laid aside,) in yon Cave lived a pious recluse;
How he rose with the sun, limping "dot and go one," To yon rill of the mountain, in all sorts of weather, Where a Prior and a Friar, who lived somewhat higher Up the rock, used to come and eat cresses together;
How a thirsty old codger, the neighbours called Roger, With them drank cold water in lieu of old wine! What its quality wanted he made up in quantity, Swigging as though he would empty the Rhine!
And how, as their bodily strength fail'd, the mental man Gain'd tenfold vigour and force in all four; And how, to the day of their death, the "Old Gentleman" Never attempted to kidnap them more.