THE CURE'S PROGRESS by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON

MONSIEUR the Cure down the street
Comes with his kind old face, --
With his coat worn bare, and his straggling hair,
And his green umbrella-case.

You may see him pass by the little 'Grande Place,'
And the tiny 'Hotel-de-Ville';
He smiles, as he goes, to the fleuriste Rose,
And the pompier Theophile.

He turns, as a rule, through the 'Marche' cool,
Where the noisy fish-wives call;
And his compliment pays to the 'Belle Therese,'
As she knits in her dusky stall.

There's a letter to drop at the locksmith's shop,
And Toto, the locksmith's niece,
Has jubilant hopes, for the Cure gropes
In his tails for a pain d'epice.

There's a little dispute with a merchant of fruit,
Who is said to be heterodox,
That will ended be with a 'Ma foi, oui!'
And a pinch from the Cure's box.

There is also a word that no one heard
To the furrier's daughter Lou.;
And a pale cheek fed with a flickering red,
And a 'Bon Dieu garde M'sieu!'

But a grander way for the Sous-Prefet,
And a bow for Ma'am'selle Anne;
And a mock 'off-hat' to the Notary's cat,
And a nod to the Sacristan: --

For ever through life the Cure goes
With a smile on his kind old face --
With his coat worn bare, and his straggling hair,
And his green umbrella-case.

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