In and out through the motley rout,
That little Jackdaw kept hopping about;
Here and there like a dog in a fair,
Over comfits and cakes, and dishes and plates,
Cowl and cope, and rochet and pall,
Mitre and crosier! he hopp’d upon all! 
With saucy air, he perch’d on the chair
Where in state, the great Lord Cardinal sat
In the great Lord Cardinal’s great red hat;
And he peer’d in the face of his Lordship’s Grace
With a satisfied look, as if he would say,
“We two are the greatest folks here to-day!”

The feast was over, the board was clear’d,
The flawns and the custards had all disappear’d,
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,
Emboss’d and fill’d 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 mark’d in “permanent ink.” 
The great Lord Cardinal turns at the sight
Of these nice little boys dress’d 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 no end of a rout,
And nobody seems to know what they’re about
But the monks have their pockets all turn’d 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-colour’d 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! 
And the Abbot declared that, “when nobody twigg’d it,
Some rascal or other had popp’d in, and prigg’d it!”

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! 
He cursed him at board, he cursed him in bed;
From the sole of his foot to the crown of his head;
He cursed him in sleeping, that every night
He should dream of evil, and wake in a fright;