Religious bearing
the coffin which encloses Lewis's bones.
1st Lady. See! the procession comes--the mob streams in
At every door. Hark! how the steeples thunder
Their solemn bass above the wailing choir.
2d Lady. They will stop at the screen.
Knight. And there, as I hear, open the coffin. Push forward,
ladies, to that pillar: thence you will see all.
1st Peas. Oh dear! oh dear! If any man had told me that I should
ride forty miles on this errand, to see him that went out flesh come
home grass, like the flower of the field!
2d Peas. We have changed him, but not mended him, say I, friend.
1st Peas. Never we. He knew where a yeoman's heart lay! One that
would clap a man on the back when his cow died, and behave like a
gentleman to him--that never met you after a hailstorm without
lightening himself of a few pocket-burners.
2d Peas. Ay, that's your poor-man's plaster: that's your right
grease for this world's creaking wheels.
1st Peas. Nay, that's your rich man's plaster too, and covers the
multitude of sins. That's your big pike's swimming-bladder, that
keeps him atop and feeding: that's his calling and election, his
oil of anointing, his salvum fac regem, his yeoman of the wardrobe,
who keeps the velvet-piled side of this world uppermost, lest his
delicate eyes should see the warp that holds it.
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