"'He lives in his house,
As still as a mouse,
Until he has eaten his dinner;
But then doth his nose
Outroar all the woes
That encompass the death of a sinner.
"'And there oft has been seen
No less than a dean
To tarry a week in the parish,
In October and March,
When deans are less starch,
And days are less gleamy and garish.
"'That Sunday Tom's eyes
Look'd always more wise,
He repeated more often his text;
Two leaves stuck together,
(The fault of the weather)
And . . . THE REST YE SHALL HEAR IN MY NEXT.
"'At mess he lost quite
His small appetite,
By losing his friend the good dean;
The cook's sight must fail her!
The eggs sure are staler!
The beef, too!--why, what can it mean?
"'He turned off the butcher,
To the cook could he clutch her,
What his choler had done there's no saying -
'T is verily said
He smote low the cock's head,
And took other pullets for laying.'
"On this being concluded, Doctor Glaston said he shrewdly suspected
an indigestion on the part of Mr. Thomas Flooke, caused by sitting
up late and studying hard with Mr. Dean; and he protested that
theology itself should not carry us into the rawness of the morning
air, particularly in such critical months as March and October, in
one of which the sap rises, in the other sinks, and there are many
stars very sinister.
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