Ding--ding-a-ding! Ding--ding-a-ding! The church bells they du ring, Ding--ding-a-ding! Ding--ding-a-ding! An' seems they bells du zing: "O merry be! O merry be! The work it all be done, Zee, peas and brocoli du graw Tremenjus in the zun; An' hot it is, an' calm it is, Bees buzz an' cattle doze; Zo, laze about, an' talk about, All in your Zunday clo's." _Ding--ding-a-ding_! Ding--ding-a-ding_! Ding--ding-a-ding! Ding--ding-a-ding! The church bells merry ring, Ding--ding-a-ding! Ding--ding-a-ding! An,' dang it! doan't they zing?-- "O rest awhile! O rest awhile! Vor 'tis amazin' sweet To watch the white-heart cabbages All bustin' in the heat; Zo, zit about, an' stand about, Beside ov Early Rose, An' puff a pipe, an' think ov things, All in your Zunday clo's." _Ding--ding-a-ding_! Ding--ding-a-ding_! Dong! Dong! Dong! There's a shadow on the marn, Dong! Dong! Dong! The one larst bell du warn: "O fulish mun! O fulish mun! Life be no more than grass, It glitters in the shinin' zun-- Until the Reaper pass! An', hark! I call 'ee up to prayer, Wi' passen, clerk, an' schule, Come up along, an' take thee seat Thou ole pig-headed fule!" _Dong_! _Dong_! _Dong_! UNCLE TOBY AND THE FLY [Sidenote: _Sterne_] My uncle _Toby_ was a man patient of injuries;--not from want of courage,--I have told you in a former chapter, "that he was a man of courage":--And will add here, that where just occasions presented, or called it forth,--know no man under whose arm I would have sooner taken shelter;--nor did this arise from any insensibility or obtuseness of his intellectual parts;--for he felt this insult of my father's as feelingly as a man could do;--but he was of a peaceful, placid nature,--no jarring element in it,--all was mixed up so kindly within him; my uncle _Toby_ had scarce a heart to retaliate upon a fly. --Go--says he, one day at dinner, to an over-grown one which had buzzed about his nose, and tormented him cruelly all dinner-time,--and which, after infinite attempts, he had caught at last, as it flew by him;--I'll not hurt thee, says my uncle _Toby_, rising from his chair, and going across the room, with the fly in his hand,--I'll not hurt a hair of thy head;--Go, says he, lifting up the sash, and opening his hand as he spoke, to let it escape;--go, poor devil, get thee gone, why should I hurt thee?--This world surely is wide enough to hold both thee and me.