‘Why did the lady in the lift
Slap that poor parson’s face?’
Said Mother, thinking as she sniffed,
Of clerical disgrace.
Said Sonny Boy: ‘Alas, I know.
My conscience doth accuse me;
The lady stood upon my toe,
Yet did not say–“Excuse me!”
‘She hurt–and in that crowd confined
I scarcely could endure it;
So when I pinched her fat behind
She thought–it was the Curate.’
