There Chanticleer was drawn upon his knees,
Adorning shrines, and stocks of sainted trees;[240]
And by him, a mishapen, ugly race,
The curse of God was seen on every face:
No Holland emblem could that malice mend,[241]
But still the worse the look, the fitter for a fiend.
The master of the farm, displeased to find
So much of rancour in so mild a kind,
Enquired into the cause, and came to know,
The passive church had struck the foremost blow;