(Contractors play the meanest tricks)
The roof's as crazy as its master,
And he was born in fifty-six—
Stairs creaking—cracks in every landing,
The colonnade is sure to fall—
We sha'n't find post or pillar standing,
Unless we make great haste to call.
Who was that sweetest of sweet creatures,
Last Sunday, in the Rector's seat?
The finest shape,—the loveliest features,