And there he beheld, with strait comb’d locks,
And eyes with ardour filling,
A KNAVE, who rock’d like one in the stocks,
And spoke in strains most killing.
As soon as the DE’EL the wight discern’d,
And saw what he was after,
Altho’ to mince the VILLAIN he burn’d,
Had well nigh burst with laughter.
Up to the pulpit he straightway went
With face as bold as Turpin;
Quoth he to himself—“Sure heav’n ne’er meant
Such place for thee to chirp in!”
He ask’d of the Clerk the Parson’s name,
“Church!” quoth the amen-grinder;
“A saint he is of unequall’d fame,
A staunch game gospel-finder!”
“I’ll plumb his depth:” the devil then quoth,
And up the steps he mounted,
And as he march’d up, the Clerk most loth,
Shook, as his steps he counted.
He mounted the steps, the Parson’s eye
Soon glanc’d the Demon coming,
But he felt not frighten’d, coy nor shy,
But still kept on his strumming.
The FIEND suggested, the sermon done,
They should to a rendezvous,
Where they might each have a taste of fun,
With an Adonis or two.
Now Church who us’d from his infancy,
In such things to be dabbling,
Squeez’d the fiend’s fist, and wink’d his eye,
And then cut short his gabbling.
Away they went, as the DEV’L had said,
Both arm in arm together,
And up to the place of meeting sped,
Like horses to their tether.
And then the frolic and fun began,
And heav’n look’d on with sorrow,
And sigh’d that man should make beast of man
As ’erst in vile Gomorrah!