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232 MEN AND WOMEN THE BISHOP ORDERS HIS TOMB AT SAINT PRAXED'S CHURCH. ROME 15--- VANITY, saith the preacher, vanity ! Draw round my bed: is Anselm keeping back? Nephews---sons mine . . . ah God, I know not! Well-- She, men would have to be your mother once, Old Gandolf envied me, so fair she was! What's done is done, and she is dead beside, Dead long ago, and I am Bishop since, And as she died so must we die ourselves, And thence ye may perceive the world's a dream. Life, how and what is it? As here I lie In this state-chamber, dying by degrees, Hours and long hours in the dead night, I ask " Do I live, am I dead? " Peace, peace seems all. Saint Praxed's ever was the church for peace; And so, about this tomb of mine. I fought With tooth and nail to save my niche, ye know: ---Old Gandolf cozened me, despite my care; THE BISHOP ORDERS HIS TOMB 233 Shrewd was that snatch from out the corner South He graced his carrion . . .