18
LE LUTRIN
Canto 2.
Abject complaints; Humble Petitionings,
Are still contemn'd, but in the breasts of Kings.
Then study brave Revenge, despised Love,
Nor shall Repentance e're my Pity move;
And when thy Ears shall hear my Passing-bell,
Then, then expect Another kind of Knell;
My Angry Ghost shall haunt thy Conscious Soul,
I'le Ring thee such a Peal, shall make thee Howl;
Hobgoblins shall thy house turn topsey-turvey,
Conscience shall then upbraid thee, what a Scurvey
Knave thou hast been to thy Deserted Wife,
And make thee Pulpits Curse, whil'st thou hast Life!
Nay, I'le pursue thee to the Stygian Lake,
And ugly Ballads, Boyes of thee shall make.
This said, she dropt backwards upon her breech,
For raging sorrow quite had stopt her speech;
The noise awaken'd Asse her trusty Maid,
Who Hobling soon came in unto her Aid.
Now Darkness had exil'd th' expiring Day,
Supper to Service had given leave to play;
The fudling, Chanters now in Clubs were got,
Wetting their Whistles with the good Ale-pot.
Brontin, whom Zeal for th' service had made quicker,
Bethought himself, A Punch of Nappy Liquor
In a Cold Winters Night was no false Latine,
To qualifie Devotion for the Matine;
This Cargo, Gilotin's deep providence
Laid in; he was (say truth) A man of sence,
The smell o'th' Bottle made him eas'ly lugg
The grateful Cumber of the Double Jugg;
Thus trudg'd he nimble: Whom should he stumble next on,
But that tough stick of Wood, Boirude the Sexton?
Now both together warm'd with Zeal were hasting
To meet the Clock-maker, for Time was wasting:
Are still contemn'd, but in the breasts of Kings.
Then study brave Revenge, despised Love,
Nor shall Repentance e're my Pity move;
And when thy Ears shall hear my Passing-bell,
Then, then expect Another kind of Knell;
My Angry Ghost shall haunt thy Conscious Soul,
I'le Ring thee such a Peal, shall make thee Howl;
Hobgoblins shall thy house turn topsey-turvey,
Conscience shall then upbraid thee, what a Scurvey
Knave thou hast been to thy Deserted Wife,
And make thee Pulpits Curse, whil'st thou hast Life!
Nay, I'le pursue thee to the Stygian Lake,
And ugly Ballads, Boyes of thee shall make.
This said, she dropt backwards upon her breech,
For raging sorrow quite had stopt her speech;
The noise awaken'd Asse her trusty Maid,
Who Hobling soon came in unto her Aid.
Now Darkness had exil'd th' expiring Day,
Supper to Service had given leave to play;
The fudling, Chanters now in Clubs were got,
Wetting their Whistles with the good Ale-pot.
Brontin, whom Zeal for th' service had made quicker,
Bethought himself, A Punch of Nappy Liquor
In a Cold Winters Night was no false Latine,
To qualifie Devotion for the Matine;
This Cargo, Gilotin's deep providence
Laid in; he was (say truth) A man of sence,
The smell o'th' Bottle made him eas'ly lugg
The grateful Cumber of the Double Jugg;
Thus trudg'd he nimble: Whom should he stumble next on,
But that tough stick of Wood, Boirude the Sexton?
Now both together warm'd with Zeal were hasting
To meet the Clock-maker, for Time was wasting:
Come!
