And a deuce of a rout,
And nobody seems to know what they’re about,
But the monks have their pockets all turn’d inside out;
The friars are kneeling,
And hunting, and feeling
The carpet, the floor, and the walls, and the ceiling.
The Cardinal drew
Off each plum-colour’d shoe,
And left his red stockings exposed to the view;
He peeps, and he feels,