Yet, ev’ry week, for some transgression,
She went to sigh devout confession.
For ev’ry trifle seem’d to make
Her self-reproving Conscience ache;
And Conscience, waken’d, ’tis well known,
Will never let the Soul alone.
At Godstow, ’mid the holy band,
Old Father Peter held command.
And lusty was the pious man,
As any of his crafty clan: