Page:Boileau's Lutrin - a mock-heroic poem. In six canto's. Render'd into English verse. To which is prefix'd some account of Boileau's writings, and this translation. (IA boileauslutrinmo00boil).pdf/77

The Vestry now is feen; each pallid Face
Owns the tenebrous Horror of the Place.
There lies the Desk, dread Work of wayward Fate;
A while they stand its Form to contemplate:
'Till rousing 'em, aloud the Barber cries,
This Spectacle is not t'amuse our Eyes:
Weare not here conven'd, my Friends, to stare;
Time will not stay; the Moments precious are:
Into the middle Isle convey the Mass,
And fix it on the haughty Chanter's Place.
To morrow a plump Prelate's gloating Eyes
Shall view the Triumph with uncommon Joys.

Then with an Arm tremendous bravely strove
From its old Post the dusty Lump to move.
When Oh Distraction! a dread Voice aloud,
Was heard to Issue from the hollow Wood;

Brontin