For, whate'er promises you have applied }
To your unfailing church, the surer side }
Is four fair legs in danger to provide; }
}
And whate'er tales of Peter's chair you tell, }
Yet, saving reverence of the miracle, }
The better luck was yours to 'scape so well.— }
As I remember, said the sober Hind,
Those toils were for your own dear self designed,
As well as me; and with the self-same throw,