(A MULTITUDE OF MIDGES SWARMS WHITE OVER HIS ROBE.  HE SCRATCHES HIMSELF WITH CROSSED ARMS AT HIS RIBS, GRIMACING, AND EXCLAIMS:)

I’m suffering the agony of the damned.  By the hoky fiddle, thanks be to Jesus those funny little chaps are not unanimous.  If they were they’d walk me off the face of the bloody globe.

(His head aslant he BLESSES curtly with fore and middle fingers, IMPARTS
the Easter kiss and DOUBLESHUFFLES off COMICALLY, swaying his hat from
side to side, shrinking quickly to the size of his TRAINBEARERS.  The
dwarf acolytes, giggling, peeping, Nudging, ogling, EASTERKISSING, ZIGZAG
behind him.  His voice is heard mellow from afar, merciful male,
melodious:)

    Shall carry my heart to thee,
    Shall carry my heart to thee,
    And the breath of the balmy night
    Shall carry my heart to thee!