A patient stood in a cold wet sheet—
A Grindrod's patent shroud.
Wet, wet, wet,
In douche and spray and sleet,
And still, with a voice I shall never forget,
He sang the song of the sheet.
"Drip, drip, drip,
Dashing, and splashing, and dipping;
And drip, drip, drip,
Till your fat all melts to dripping.