The Funeral, III

Th’ assembled friars stood amazed, Speechless, and swollen with rage they gazed, Till arms in angry mood were raised, And crosier-staffs were broke; When ripe for vengeance and for war, They rent the cross-woven scapular, And tore the scanty cloak; From grasp and squeeze they pass’d to blows, One took his neighbour by the nose, Another by the hair; Nor ceased to ply the dangerous art, Till each could shew a wounded part, And every back was bare!