But the monks have their pockets all turned 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-colored shoe,

And left his red stockings exposed to the view;

He peeps, and he feels in the toes and the heels;

They turn up the dishes, they turn up the plates,

They take up the poker and poke out the grates,

They turn up the rugs, they examine the mugs;

But, no! no such thing,—they can't find The Ring!