Of a watchman, "One o'clock," bawling.
Slowly and sadly we all walk'd down
From his room in the uppermost story;
A rushlight we placed on the cold hearth-stone,
And we left him alone in his glory.
Hos ego versiculos feci, tulit alter honores.—Virgil.
I wrote the verses, * * claimed them—he told stories.
Thomas Ingoldsby.