Help Poem by William Bell Scott
Help
When the portly monk would ride,
Upon his patron-saint he cried
For help, if the good saint inclined,
This once to be so kind.
Then with a long and strong essay,
He rose in such a vigorous way,
As sent him over t' other side.
He rubbed his shin, set straight his hood,
And to his saint again he cried,
Worse and worse! you're over good,
I always like to stop half way!
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4/23/2024 4:51:36 PM # 1.0.0.1119
