Come limping a poor little lame Jackdaw!
No longer gay, as on yesterday;
His feathers all seemed to be turned the wrong way;
His pinions drooped, he could hardly stand,—
His head was as bald as the palm of your hand;
His eye so dim, so wasted each limb,
Regardless of grammar, they all cried, "That's Him!
That's the scamp that has done this scandalous thing,
That's the thief that has got my Lord Cardinal's ring!"
The poor little Jackdaw, when the monks he saw,