Of "Caitiff knave!!"
The pity on't! he took me unaware,
Once more by gripping of my breech, and tossed me down the stair!
Night after night he compassed it, nor recked he who was there
But by my crop, and grip of trunks, he bumped me down the stair!
Thus mortified by evil fate, his widow nightly wept,
To hear the periodic row, and scarce a wink she slept;
She daily sought to lay his ghost by penance and by prayer,
And got a brace of saintly monks, to exorcise the scare