26
LE LUTRIN
Canto 3.
The Pulpit must be rais'd, that by to morrow
Our Dean may see't with Joy, his Foes with Sorrow!
So said, he laid his bones to't; and did strain
To roll it o're, with all his Might, and Main;
He scarce had mov'd it, O portentous wonder!
When from its hollow womb a Voice did Thunder;
Brontin starts back! The Sexton lookt like Dead!
John with his Dear, twice wisht himself in Bed!
But on their purpose obstinately bent,
They roll it or'e, true Zeal will ne're relent!
Out flies the broad-fac'd Chorister of the Night,
And with her ruffling wings strikes out the Light:
This struck their Souls with horrible Confusion,
Amaz'd they stand, they doubt; but in conclusion,
As soon as Fear lent them the use of Feet
Away they trudge, fill'd with shame and Regret;
The Nave they soon recover; whil'st their hair
Stands bristling on their heads, dissolving fear
Makes their Knees quiver underneath their Bodies,
And there they sneaking stand like baffled Noddies,
Sheltred by the same Darkness brought them thither,
The Squadron flies at last, they knew not whither.
So when a Jolly Crew of Truants gather
Into some Nook, to play their pranks together,
Secure of Eyes from Monitor and Master,
They burn the day in game, and sport the faster;
If now by chance, the Tyrants Eye doth watch 'em,
And unawares at Cards or Dice he catch 'em;
The sad surprize, their Mirth and Pastime dashes,
And each shifts for himself to scape his lashes.
Such was our Warriours plight when once the Owl
Sprung from the Pew, set up her Doleful howl.
Discord, who saw unseen their fowl disgrace,
Clapping her wings, pity'd their woful case:
Our Dean may see't with Joy, his Foes with Sorrow!
So said, he laid his bones to't; and did strain
To roll it o're, with all his Might, and Main;
He scarce had mov'd it, O portentous wonder!
When from its hollow womb a Voice did Thunder;
Brontin starts back! The Sexton lookt like Dead!
John with his Dear, twice wisht himself in Bed!
But on their purpose obstinately bent,
They roll it or'e, true Zeal will ne're relent!
Out flies the broad-fac'd Chorister of the Night,
And with her ruffling wings strikes out the Light:
This struck their Souls with horrible Confusion,
Amaz'd they stand, they doubt; but in conclusion,
As soon as Fear lent them the use of Feet
Away they trudge, fill'd with shame and Regret;
The Nave they soon recover; whil'st their hair
Stands bristling on their heads, dissolving fear
Makes their Knees quiver underneath their Bodies,
And there they sneaking stand like baffled Noddies,
Sheltred by the same Darkness brought them thither,
The Squadron flies at last, they knew not whither.
So when a Jolly Crew of Truants gather
Into some Nook, to play their pranks together,
Secure of Eyes from Monitor and Master,
They burn the day in game, and sport the faster;
If now by chance, the Tyrants Eye doth watch 'em,
And unawares at Cards or Dice he catch 'em;
The sad surprize, their Mirth and Pastime dashes,
And each shifts for himself to scape his lashes.
Such was our Warriours plight when once the Owl
Sprung from the Pew, set up her Doleful howl.
Discord, who saw unseen their fowl disgrace,
Clapping her wings, pity'd their woful case:
Their
