We're facing a very tragic situation. Our Holy Father wishes to speak with us about [the scandal], and we're anxious to hear what he has to say,

He rams his quill with scandal and with scoff, But 'tis so very foul, it won't go off.

Wishing, of all employments is the worst.

What folly can be ranker. Like our shadows, Our wishes lengthen as our sun declines.

He calls his wish, it comes; he sends it back, And says he called another; that arrives, Meets the same welcome; yet he still calls on; Till one calls him, who varies not his call, But holds him fast, in chains of darkness bound, Till Nature dies, and judgment sets him free; A freedom far less welcome than this chain.

Man wants but little, nor that little long; How soon must he resign his very dust, Which frugal nature lent him for an hour!