That the bare-footed priest was decidedly drunk.
And the party applauded each quip and each quirk
That fell from this vile Paganini of Ferques.
But, oh, wonder! those ribalds their scoffs had scarce utter’d,
When, at a low prayer by the Cordelier mutter’d,
Their laughter was heard to change into a moan,
As the priest transform’d each to a figure of stone.
There motionless still do the revellers stand,
Misshapen, as turn’d from their sculptor’s rough hand;
Save one, who when moonlight pours down from above,