Henricus—so the prelate sign'd his name—32
Was lord high chancellor in things religious;
With him church militant in truth became
(Nam cedant arma togæ) church litigious;
He kept his deacons notably in awe
By flowers epistolar perfumed with law.
No man more stern, more fortiter in re,33
No man more mild, more suaviter in modo;
When knots grew tough, it was sublime to see
Such polish'd shears go clippingly in nodo;
A hand so supple, pliant, glib, and quick,
Ne'er smooth'd a band, nor burn'd a heretic.
He seem'd to turn to you his willing cheek,34
And beg you not to smite too hard the other;
He seized his victims with a smile so meek,
And wept so fondly o'er his erring brother,
No wolf more righteous on a lamb could sup,
You vex'd his stream—he grieved—and eat you up.
"Son," said Henricus, "what you now propose35
Is wise and pious—fit for a beginning;
But sinful things, I fear me, but disclose,
In sin, perverted appetite for sinning;
Hopeless to cure—we only can detect it,
First cross the bird and then (he groan'd) dissect it!"
Till now, the raven perch'd on Gawaine's chair36
Had seem'd indulging in a placid doze,
And if he heard, he seem'd no jot to care
For threats of sprinkling his demoniac clothes,
But when the priest the closing words let drop
He hopp'd away as fast as he could hop.
Gain'd a safe corner, on a pile of tomes,37
Tracts against Arius—bulls against Pelagius,
The church of Cymri's controverse with Rome's—
Those fierce materials seem'd to be contagious,
For there, with open beak and glowering eye,
The bird seem'd croaking forth, "Dissect me! try!"
This sight, perchance, the prelate's pious plan38
Relax'd; he gazed, recoil'd, and faltering said,
"'Tis clear the monster is the foe of man,
His beak how pointed! and his eyes how red!
Demons are spirits;—spirits, on reflexion,
Are forms phantasmal, that defy dissection."
"Truly," sigh'd Gawaine, "but the holy water!"39
"No," cried the Prelate, "ineffective here.
Try, but not now, a simple noster-pater,
Or chaunt a hymn. I dare not interfere;
Act for yourself—and say your catechism;
Were I to meddle, it would cause a schism."
"A schism!"—"The church, though always in the right,40
Holds two opinions, both extremely able;
This makes the rubric rest on gowns of white,
That makes the church itself depend on sable;
Were I to exorcise that raven-back
'Twould favour white, and raise the deuce in black.[3]
"Depart my son—at once, depart, I pray,41
Pay up your dues, and keep your mind at ease,
And call that creature—no, the other way—
When fairly out, a credo, if you please;—
Go,—pax vobiscum;—shut the door I beg,
And stay;—On Friday, flogging,—with an egg!"