232 MEN AND WOMEN
THE BISHOP ORDERS HIS TOMB AT
SAINT PRAXED'S CHURCH.
VANITY, saith the preacher, vanity !
Draw round my bed: is Anselm keeping back?
Nephews---sons mine . . . ah God, I know not! Well--
She, men would have to be your mother once,
Old Gandolf envied me, so fair she was!
What's done is done, and she is dead beside,
Dead long ago, and I am Bishop since,
And as she died so must we die ourselves,
And thence ye may perceive the world's a dream.
Life, how and what is it? As here I lie
In this state-chamber, dying by degrees,
Hours and long hours in the dead night, I ask
" Do I live, am I dead? " Peace, peace seems all.
Saint Praxed's ever was the church for peace;
And so, about this tomb of mine. I fought
With tooth and nail to save my niche, ye know:
---Old Gandolf cozened me, despite my care;
THE BISHOP ORDERS HIS TOMB 233
Shrewd was that snatch from out the corner South
He graced his carrion . . .