38
LE LUTRIN
Canto 4.
Impatient of delay, as he was able,
Cry'd out aloud; Pray Sirs, bring in the Table;
What mean you thus to frustrate our rais'd Hopes?
Must we sit alwayes pining in our Copes?
The Chanter conscious of his cheat, gave way
To his Just Indignation; nor durst say
Ought in Reply; till Father Allain broke
The Horrid silence, and most gravely spoke:
This Allain you must know, was a learn'd Rabbin,
Who spent his dayes at study in his Cabbin;
Twice twenty times had he turn'd o're the Summs
Of Father Bauny, had pick't up the Crums
Of Thomas à Kempis; he knew the Lattin,
Although his Gown was neither Silk nor Sattin;
He gravely cought, and coughing gravely Rose,
Discharg'd his mind in Ciceronian Prose;
Which cause the sence was Great, the language terse,
The Poet has Immortaliz'd in Verse.
I'le pawn my Life on't (said the Canonist)
This is the Knavery of some Jansenist!
I dare believe my own eyes Information!
Our Prelate's pleas'd with Gurniers Conversation:
Arnold that Heretick waits our Destruction,
And this Tool uses for the Deans seduction:
No doubt but he can from St. Austin prove
That one St. Lewis sent from Heaven above,
In after Ages rising in our France,
A Pulpit in this Chappel should advance:
Now to confute him there lies all the skill,
Hee'l plague us with the Torrent of his Quill;
One Argument we've yet left to confute him,
Let's burn him in Effigie, that will rout him!
Let others turn o're each Voluminous Father,
That's not my Province; To be short, I'de rather
Cry'd out aloud; Pray Sirs, bring in the Table;
What mean you thus to frustrate our rais'd Hopes?
Must we sit alwayes pining in our Copes?
The Chanter conscious of his cheat, gave way
To his Just Indignation; nor durst say
Ought in Reply; till Father Allain broke
The Horrid silence, and most gravely spoke:
This Allain you must know, was a learn'd Rabbin,
Who spent his dayes at study in his Cabbin;
Twice twenty times had he turn'd o're the Summs
Of Father Bauny, had pick't up the Crums
Of Thomas à Kempis; he knew the Lattin,
Although his Gown was neither Silk nor Sattin;
He gravely cought, and coughing gravely Rose,
Discharg'd his mind in Ciceronian Prose;
Which cause the sence was Great, the language terse,
The Poet has Immortaliz'd in Verse.
I'le pawn my Life on't (said the Canonist)
This is the Knavery of some Jansenist!
I dare believe my own eyes Information!
Our Prelate's pleas'd with Gurniers Conversation:
Arnold that Heretick waits our Destruction,
And this Tool uses for the Deans seduction:
No doubt but he can from St. Austin prove
That one St. Lewis sent from Heaven above,
In after Ages rising in our France,
A Pulpit in this Chappel should advance:
Now to confute him there lies all the skill,
Hee'l plague us with the Torrent of his Quill;
One Argument we've yet left to confute him,
Let's burn him in Effigie, that will rout him!
Let others turn o're each Voluminous Father,
That's not my Province; To be short, I'de rather
Consult
