Mrs. Freudenthal, irate, Decides to diet, to get thin. Everyone must deprecate Decay of manners. With no chin
The arrogant yet gluttonous camel Never shows satiety; Would rather rest in asphodel Than figure in Society,
But Mrs. Kinfoot, spotting a new head To add to her collection--grasps her hand, And Mrs. Freudenthal is gently led Within the portals of the Promised Land.
The voices weave a web of futile sound; A fan is dropped by Lady Carabas; Restored to her: but Mrs. Kinfoot frowned, Guarding the door, as Cerberus his pass,
But suddenly, great waves of sound obtrude Upon the pleasant party in this room; While we enjoy the music's interlude, Outside there swells the trumpet-call of doom.
Mosaic tombs or unmarked graves--asunder Are rent. King Dodon rises from the dead And while the quivering heavens thunder, He smooths his robe, then calmly shakes his head
Free of the ages' dust--but now the voices Of these condemned (for judgment will not tarry) Shrill out in woe; but one, alone, rejoices, For Mrs. Kinfoot scents another quarry.
The Army of the Dead are on the march To meet their Maker on his ivory throne; He sits beneath the rainbow's radiant arch, Dispensing judgment. Oh! atone, atone!
But Mrs. Kinfoot saw a sailor-sinner [*] --With one arm--leave St. Paul's and walk away And Mrs. Kinfoot longed to give a dinner To meet the Judge upon the Judgment day!
Above God's head a dozen suns kept guard Like sentinels. Her erring feet were led Up to a crowded mount, where God's regard Was fixed upon her, while He gravely said:
"Anne Kinfoot, worthy mother, and good wife, Your weakness and your faults are all forgiven; Go you, my child, to everlasting life, And take your husband, also, up to Heaven."
But she could see the Counsellors and Kings And brilliant bearers of a famous name, Tangled with snakes and horrid crawling things Sent down to torture and eternal flame.
Then Mrs. Kinfoot lied in agony: "Oh, Lord, I am as others of my class and station," She cried, "Oh, have me bound, and burnt and gored Oh! send me down to suffer my damnation.
I swear I beat my children!" Oh, despondent She was; "I am a sinner. I will tell How I escaped a Ducal Co-respondent Last year--my God--I must insist on--Hell.