XV.
God help us all! God help me too! I am,
God knows, as helpless as the devil can wish,
And not a whit more difficult to damn,
Than is to bring to land a late-hooked fish,
Or to the butcher to purvey the lamb;
Not that I'm fit for such a noble dish,
As one day will be that immortal fry
Of almost everybody born to die.
XVI.
Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate,
And nodded o'er his keys; when lo! there came
A wondrous noise he had not heard of late--
A rushing sound of wind, and stream, and flame;
In short, a roar of things extremely great,
Which would have made all save a saint exclaim;
But he, with first a start and then a wink,
Said, "There's another star gone out, I think!"
XVII.
But ere he could return to his repose,
A cherub flapp'd his right wing o'er his eyes--
At which Saint Peter yawn'd and rubb'd his nose;
"Saint porter," said the angel, "prithee rise!"
Waving a goodly wing, which glow'd, as glows
An earthly peacock's tail, with heavenly dyes;
To which the Saint replied, "Well, what's the matter?
Is Lucifer come back with all this clatter?"
XVIII.
"No," quoth the cherub; "George the Third is dead."
"And who _is_ George the Third?" replied the apostle;
"_What George? What Third?_" "The King of England," said
The angel. "Well, he won't find kings to jostle
Him on his way; but does he wear his head?
Because the last we saw here had a tussle,
And ne'er would have got into heaven's good graces,
Had he not flung his head in all our faces.
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