12
LE LUTRIN
Canto i.
For what less could that Thundring Name presage,
Than that he'd prove The Terror of the Age?
All's husht again; and for the second turn
The boy advanc'd his shaking hand to th' Urn;
When the kind fates gave out th' Auspicious Name
Of John the Clockmaker: A Cock oth' Game,
This John had been, but now a jolly fellow
Had yok'd himself to Nan, his dear Bed-fellow;
This happy pair, (say they) before their Marriage
Had guilty been of some unhandsome carriage,
But after three years stealing secret pleasure
The Priest had joyn'd their hands, at least, together.
A third remains; The Prelate takes the Urn,
And to play fair gives it a double turn:
Their fligg'ring Souls do now on Tiptoes stand,
'Twixt fears and hopes for the deciding hand;
How blithe wast thou, how Buxome, and how chicket,
When once thy Name proclaimed by the Ticket,
Past all the fear of Contingent Disaster,
Appear'd before the face of thy great Master,
Boirude (I mean) the Sexton? Some do say,
Thy livid Front e're while as pale as Clay,
Glow'd into Sanguine; and thy Rosy Hew
Did the Wan Sallow of thy Hide Subdue!
Thy Gouty Legs and Toes benumm'd before,
Ventur'd to cut three Capers on the Floor!
Now might you hear the Crowd at chearful Rates
Applaud the Justice of the Gentle Fates,
Who by their peremptory strict commands
Dispos'd the work into such able Hands;
Faith with the Court Dissolves, all satisfi'd,
And to their Quarters in great Triumph hy'd.
The Dean alone, to cool his Zeal enraged,
Slumber'd till a soft Supper might asswage it!
Than that he'd prove The Terror of the Age?
All's husht again; and for the second turn
The boy advanc'd his shaking hand to th' Urn;
When the kind fates gave out th' Auspicious Name
Of John the Clockmaker: A Cock oth' Game,
This John had been, but now a jolly fellow
Had yok'd himself to Nan, his dear Bed-fellow;
This happy pair, (say they) before their Marriage
Had guilty been of some unhandsome carriage,
But after three years stealing secret pleasure
The Priest had joyn'd their hands, at least, together.
A third remains; The Prelate takes the Urn,
And to play fair gives it a double turn:
Their fligg'ring Souls do now on Tiptoes stand,
'Twixt fears and hopes for the deciding hand;
How blithe wast thou, how Buxome, and how chicket,
When once thy Name proclaimed by the Ticket,
Past all the fear of Contingent Disaster,
Appear'd before the face of thy great Master,
Boirude (I mean) the Sexton? Some do say,
Thy livid Front e're while as pale as Clay,
Glow'd into Sanguine; and thy Rosy Hew
Did the Wan Sallow of thy Hide Subdue!
Thy Gouty Legs and Toes benumm'd before,
Ventur'd to cut three Capers on the Floor!
Now might you hear the Crowd at chearful Rates
Applaud the Justice of the Gentle Fates,
Who by their peremptory strict commands
Dispos'd the work into such able Hands;
Faith with the Court Dissolves, all satisfi'd,
And to their Quarters in great Triumph hy'd.
The Dean alone, to cool his Zeal enraged,
Slumber'd till a soft Supper might asswage it!
CANTO
