36
LE LUTRIN
Canto 4.
What hope two sniveling Chanters cryes should wake 'em,
And to Cold Prayers from their warm Beds betake 'em?
Could you send Jove with his loud Thunder-claps,
Your Plot perhaps might take, and but perhaps:
With what Charms then, hope you here to prevail?
These Adders stop their Ears with their own Tail.
The Chanter netled heard in fustian fume
Rejoyning Girard thus sawcily presume,
And thus! Nay now false heart, I plainly see
What leg thou halt'st on! 'Tis the Prelate, he
That mortifies thy base enfeebled Spirits,
Vile Venal Soul! what know'st thou not my Merits?
I oft have seen thee cringe with supple Hams,
To woe his blessings; Alas! mere flim-flams!
Well! go, and basely bend thy Oyled knees,
I have enow without thee, to make 'em rise.
Come Girot! Come, my trusty steel-edg'd friend,
Thee on this desp'rate Errand I dare send,
Nor fear success: Take me the Thund'ring Hammer,
On Holy Thursday us'd to raise a Clamour;
And trust me friend, The Rising Sun shall see
The Chapter met in it's Formality!
'Twas said, 'twas done! forth from the sacred Chest
Where it did lie from year to year at rest,
The Mawl is brought: Away they March, and cry
The Chapter waits you; waits you instantly!
Discord would not be wanting in the Brawl,
She enters straight the Prelates Palace-Hall,
Augments the Din; the Neighbour-hood she scares
With rising Scare-fires, sudden Massacres;
The Chanons now Awake! Strange tale to tell,
Such wonder in an Age had scarce befell!
One swears the Lightnings did invest the Town,
That Thunder-bolts had beat the Houses down,
And to Cold Prayers from their warm Beds betake 'em?
Could you send Jove with his loud Thunder-claps,
Your Plot perhaps might take, and but perhaps:
With what Charms then, hope you here to prevail?
These Adders stop their Ears with their own Tail.
The Chanter netled heard in fustian fume
Rejoyning Girard thus sawcily presume,
And thus! Nay now false heart, I plainly see
What leg thou halt'st on! 'Tis the Prelate, he
That mortifies thy base enfeebled Spirits,
Vile Venal Soul! what know'st thou not my Merits?
I oft have seen thee cringe with supple Hams,
To woe his blessings; Alas! mere flim-flams!
Well! go, and basely bend thy Oyled knees,
I have enow without thee, to make 'em rise.
Come Girot! Come, my trusty steel-edg'd friend,
Thee on this desp'rate Errand I dare send,
Nor fear success: Take me the Thund'ring Hammer,
On Holy Thursday us'd to raise a Clamour;
And trust me friend, The Rising Sun shall see
The Chapter met in it's Formality!
'Twas said, 'twas done! forth from the sacred Chest
Where it did lie from year to year at rest,
The Mawl is brought: Away they March, and cry
The Chapter waits you; waits you instantly!
Discord would not be wanting in the Brawl,
She enters straight the Prelates Palace-Hall,
Augments the Din; the Neighbour-hood she scares
With rising Scare-fires, sudden Massacres;
The Chanons now Awake! Strange tale to tell,
Such wonder in an Age had scarce befell!
One swears the Lightnings did invest the Town,
That Thunder-bolts had beat the Houses down,
And
