The feast was over, the board was cleared, The flawns and the custards had all disappeared, And six little singing-boys--dear little souls In nice clean faces, and nice white stoles-- Came, in order due, two by two, Marching that grand refectory through! A nice little boy held a golden ewer, Embossed and filled with water, as pure As any that flows between Rheims and Namur, Which a nice little boy stood ready to catch In a fine golden hand-basin made to match. Two nice little boys, rather more grown, Carried lavender-water, and eau de Cologne; And a nice little boy had a nice cake of soap, Worthy of washing the hands of the Pope. One little boy more a napkin bore, Of the best white diaper, fringed with pink, And a Cardinal's hat marked in "permanent ink." The great Lord Cardinal turns at the sight Of these nice little boys dressed all in white; From his finger he draws his costly turquoise: And, not thinking at all about little Jackdaws, Deposits it straight by the side of his plate, While the nice little boys on his Eminence wait; Till when nobody's dreaming of any such thing, That little Jackdaw hops off with the ring! There's a cry and a shout, and a terrible rout, And nobody seems to know what they're about, But the monks have their pockets all turned inside out; The friars are kneeling, and hunting and feeling The carpet, the floor, and the walls, and the ceiling. The Cardinal drew off each plum-colored shoe, And left his red stockings exposed to the view; He peeps, and he feels in the toes and the heels; They turn up the dishes, they turn up the plates, They take up the poker and poke out the grates, They turn up the rugs, they examine the mugs; But, no! no such thing,--they can't find THE RING! The Cardinal rose with a dignified look, He called for his candle, his bell, and his book! In holy anger and pious grief He solemnly cursed that rascally thief! Never was heard such a terrible curse! But what gave rise to no little surprise, Nobody seemed one penny the worse!