"A bedstead of the antique mode,
Compact of timber many a load;
Such as our ancestors did use,
Is metamorphos'd into pews,
Which still their ancient nature keep,
Of lodging folks dispos'd to sleep."
The pulpit in which our dozing divine is groaning out the gospel, was once a groaning-chair for the good wife of the cottage. The cushion on which she sat for many a winter's eve is now ornamented with tassels. The arm still retains its original form, though somewhat more upright than when it served for a rest to the old dame's elbow. Swift describes the exact manner of the metamorphosis:
"The groaning-chair began to crawl,
Like an huge snail against the wall;