 | The Ingoldsby Legends |  |
Saint Aloys
Was the Bishop of Blois,
And a pitiful man was he,
He grieved and he pined
For the woes of mankind,
And of brutes in their degree,—
He would rescue the rat
From the claws of the cat,
And set the poor captive free;
Though his cassock was swarming
With all sorts of vermin,
He'd not take the life of a flea!—
Kind, tender, forgiving
To all things living,
From injury still he'd endeavour to screen 'em,
Fish, flesh, or fowl,—no difference between 'em—
Nihil putavit a se alienum.
Was the Bishop of Blois,
And a pitiful man was he,
He grieved and he pined
For the woes of mankind,
And of brutes in their degree,—
He would rescue the rat
From the claws of the cat,
And set the poor captive free;
Though his cassock was swarming
With all sorts of vermin,
He'd not take the life of a flea!—
Kind, tender, forgiving
To all things living,
From injury still he'd endeavour to screen 'em,
Fish, flesh, or fowl,—no difference between 'em—
Nihil putavit a se alienum.
| The Ingoldsby Legends | |