That stout maroon leather, they pierced altogether, Like tenter-hooks holding when clench'd from within, And the maids cried "Good gracious! how very tenacious!" —They as well might endeavour to pull off her skin!—

She shriek'd with the pain, but all efforts were vain; In vain did they strain every sinew and muscle,— The cushion stuck fast!—From that hour to her last She could never get rid of that comfortless "Bustle!"

And e'en as Macbeth, when devising the death Of his King, heard "the very stones prate of his whereabouts;' So this shocking bad wife heard a voice all her life Crying "Murder!" resound from the cushion,—or thereabouts.

With regard to the Clerk, we are left in the dark As to what his fate was; but I cannot imagine he Got off scot-free, though unnoticed it be Both by Ribadaneira and Jacques de Voragine:

For cut-throats, we're sure, can be never secure, And "History's Muse" still to prove it her pen holds, As you'll see, if you look in a rather scarce book, "God's Revenge against Murder," by one Mr. Reynolds.

Moral.

Now, you grave married Pilgrims, who wander away, Like Ulysses of old,[12] (_vide_ Homer and Naso,) Don't lengthen your stay to three years and a day, And when you are coming home, just write and say so!

And you, learned Clerks, who're not given to roam, Stick close to your books, nor lose sight of decorum; Don't visit a house when the Master's from home! Shun drinking,—and study the "Vitæ Sanctorum!"

Above all, you gay ladies, who fancy neglect In your spouses, allow not your patience to fail; But remember Gengulphus's wife!—and reflect On the moral enforced by her terrible tale!

FOOTNOTES: