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/84

Asham'd and Angry at their late Defeat,
They light their Taper and their Task repeat:
The Noisy Enemy flies off unhurt,
And what was late their Terror is their Sport.
And now the Desk the Chanter's Pew ascends,
A Shout the Chapel's lofty Arches rends:
The wormy Boards, by Times corroding Spight
Disjoin'd, the lusty Mallet's Blows unite:
With their Continu'd Strokes the Pews resound;
The Vaults rebellow'd, and the Organ groan'd.

Ah Chanter, buried in profound Repose,
Little thy Heart the brooding Mischief knows;
But undisturb'd by Grief or anxious Fear,
Dreams not what angry Fate is doing here!
If in a Vision yet some Pow'r Divine
Shou'd to thy Sense reveal the dread Design,

E'er