With Pagan zeal your dustman are
Beyond all others fraught.
In sooth, to speak, we would not choose
To state these fellows ever snooze,
For bitter as the bore is,
Nor night, nor morn, in square or street,
Can one go forth, but he must meet,
These grim "memento moris."
But to my tale: at break of day,
Up rose the hero of my lay,