For if angels can look on such sights—never mind!
When you’re next to blaspheming, it’s best to be mum.
The parson declares that her woes weren’t designed;
But, then, with the parson it’s all kingdom-come.
Lose a leg, save a soul—a convenient text;
I call it Tea doctrine, not savouring of God.
When poor little Molly wants ‘chastening,’ why, next
The Archangel Michael might taste of the rod.