Of coaxing, or fooling, or bribing you
So that their relation can amble through.
And say, St. Peter, it seems to me
This gate isn’t kept as it ought to be;
You ought to stand by that opening there,
And never sit down in that easy chair.
And say, St. Peter, my sight is dimmed,
But I don’t like the way your whiskers are trimmed,
They’re cut too wide and outward toss:
They’d look better narrower, cut straight across.