Chapter 277 of 372 · 64 words · ~1 min read

X.

Formed a sepulchral melodrame. Of all The fools who flocked to swell or see the show, Who cared about the corpse? The funeral Made the attraction, and the black the woe, There throbbed not there a thought which pierced the pall; And when the gorgeous coffin was laid low, It seemed the mockery of hell to fold The rottenness of eighty years in gold.[506]