DAENEIDS, OR The Noble Labours of the Great Dean OF Notre-Dame IN PARIS, For the Erecting in his Choir a Throne for his Glory, and the Eclipsing the Pride of an Imperious, Usurping Chanter.  
An Heroic POEM in Four Cantos.  
Containing a true History, and shows the Folly, Foppery, Luxury, Laziness, Pride, Ambition, and Contention of the Romish Clergy.  
Licenced, Jan. 27. 1691/ 2.  
LONDON, Printed for Richard Baldwin in Warwick-Lane; near the Oxford-Arms-Inn. 1692.   

To the Right Honourable JOHN Earl of MULGRAVE, etc. Knight of the most Honourable Order of the Garter.  
My Lord,  
I Have long been ashamed to see so many of my Writings march into the World, and yet not one of 'em Honoured by Your Lordship's Patronage. It is an easy matter for a Troop to force themselves on Ladies and Neutral Gentlemen, or Nobility, who will not Arm; but they must be Men of some Merit and Gallantry who compel regard from a General. Your Lordship is as much above us in our own Ways, as you are in other Respects; and I give this manifest proof of it, Your Fortune, and, most Men believe, Your Inclinations, fixes You on the top of Ease and Pleasure, therefore you would never have written one Line, if it had cost you any pains, yet have you performed Masteries, which we who make Poetry the whole Business of our Lives, could never equal. In Your Essay on Poetry there appears to me a Commanding Genius, standing on a Rise, o're-looking the Age You live in, seeing all the Writers in it marching below You, and too often disorderly; and You give us those Orders which plainly show, Poetry attends on You, You may do what You please with it, but we compared with Your Lordship, are poor drudges to it, that have oftener the Will, than the Power to do well. Your Lordship has not only a perfect Understanding of what is fit to pass in the World, but You are of a severe Temper which will not give Your Pass to any false Sense, the absence therefore of Your Name from my Writings seems a silent Charge against me of want of Merit. To remove that Reproach, I take this occasion to tell the World, Your Lordship has approved of some of my Writings; and I have longed to make my brags of it, but have been bindered either by the unkindness of Fortune, which has given me some blow, and made me unfit to appear before You, or by the kindness of some Generous Persons, by which my Writings have been in a manner Mortgaged. Though the Law of the Land does not reckon Favours freely bestowed among Debts, the Law of Gratitude does; whenever a Man is obliged a Judgement is entered against him. In the late Reign when Your Lordship graced the Lord Chamberlains Office, You were pleased to show me those Regards which made me vain: And I was very desirous to make it known to the World; but the Cloudiness of those Times, got I think into my Head, I did not Write so well as I have done formerly. Now I venture before Your Lordship, because I bring an Acquaintance of Yours, I am sure You value, Mr. Boileau; and a piece of his all Men of Sense have esteemed, because it exposes to contempt Men, who are the Antipodes to good Sense; Priests who advance Nonsense above Reason, make Trifles of the most Solemn Matters, and Solemn Things of Trifles; are idle in the great Affairs of their Calling, and busy in Impertinence. By the few we have had amongst us, of such kind of Churchmen we may guests the misery of people who live in the Roman Church, where there are scarce any other; where the whole Mass of Priesthood is a heap of proud Flesh, and all the Strength and Nutriment of a Nation, goes to feed Ecclesiastical Corruption; thanks be to God, we are in a condition to make sport with'em, if e'er they come amongst us, they will spoil the Jest. And past dispute 'tis very fit to render Men contemptible who endeavour to make Religion so. We have had too many in our Church who have busied themselves, and embroiled others about things, which the French have had the understanding to know were only fit for a Droll. But now we have greater Affairs on our Hand. We have not time to contend for Modes in Religion, when the Being of the Protestant Religion, and indeed the English Nation lies at stake. In a Calm at Sea Men may have leisure to wrangle at Chess; but if a Storm rises the quarrel's at an end, and the Bishops, Knights, Rooks and Pawns that bred it are left to shift for themselves. I am well assured the Lutrin pleases Your Lordship, but I may doubt of my Management of it; for I treat it as an English Privateer would do a French Prize, great part of it, I fling away, and I dash-brew and disguise the rest as I think good. I shall not value how the World censures me, if I have the good Fortune to be approved of by Your Lordship, and thought worthy of the Title of  
My Lord, Your Lordship's most Humble and Obliged Servant, John Crown.   

DAENEIDS OR The Noble Labours of the Great Dean OF Notre-Dame IN PARIS, For the Erecting in his Choir a Throne for his Glory, and the Eclipsing the Pride of an Imperious, Usurping Chanter, etc.  

CANTO the First.  
I Sing of Angels, not the Heavenly Choir,  
Who Peace and Truth, and Harmony inspire.  
Hoarse Brazen Trumpetlike is my rough Voice,  
Jarring Church-Angels therefore are my choice.  
In mighty Paris two great Spirits Reigned,  
Where one with ease could not be well contained.  
They strove, and from 'em dreadful Thunders broke,  
Which made great Notre-Dame both shake and smoke;  
And ere the almost falling Church could fix,  
Strange Janglings made, among Church-candlesticks.  
Of all the Priests that Wealthy Dome supplied  
With Laziness, with Luxury and Pride,  
None deeper sunk, or firmlier remained  
In Peace and Fat, than he who o'er it Reigned,  
The Dean; a solid Priest in Flesh and Bone,  
He like a sleepy Rowler trundled on  
Along all Times; and gathered as he rolled  
A heavy heap of fat and clammy Mould.  
He never knew when Changes went or came,  
All Times, Faiths, Oaths, appeared to him the same.  
He had no Palate but for Meats and Wine,  
In those he was a Learned profound Divine;  
And to those Studies kept so close and hard,  
To his Cathedral he paid small regard.  
Mean while a haughty Melancholy Sower,  
Old busy snarling Chanter stepped in Power.  
Chief of the Chanters there, he was by right,  
But not contented with that Noble Height,  
Usurped the Deans Supremacy, and more,  
Took high Prerogatives unknown before,  
As scorning Power only at second Hand;  
And terrible he was in his command;  
He made the Singers shake more than in Song.  
This fierce Usurper Ruled in quiet long,  
Obeyed, feared, honoured, Church Affairs went on,  
In a profound still current crossed by none.  
At length the Dean from his long slumbers work,  
Burst through his Cloud, and Church repose he broke.  
He saw his Reverence and State were gone,  
And gallantly resolved to seize his own;  
Nay his Prelatique Legal Pomp advance  
On the intruding Chanters arrogance.  
The great Soul'd Chanter having proudly Reigned,  
Submission scorned, and Usurped State maintained.  
By his Devotion to Pomp, Power and Pride,  
He won the Zealous Canons to his side;  
Who skilled in causes of that mighty weight,  
Lent him their aid by many a loud debate:  
So of old Pagan Prelates madly strove  
The Moon's Eclipse by noises to remove.  
Pagans beat Dishes, Pans and Platters hard,  
Our Priests no clattering in Quotations spared.  
What Devil envious of Church repose,  
These Fire-balls into holy Bosoms throws,  
And turns the Church to a disordered Rout?  
How can such fury enter Souls devout?  
Stand off, Atheistique Wits, and Scoffers vain,  
Do not my Grave and Solemn Song profane?  
Great Notre-Dame, the high and stately Scene  
Of our ensuing Story, long had been  
Adorned and blest with many a deep Divine,  
Not deep in Arts, but in Down-beds and Wine.  
Their great Devotion doubly they expressed;  
In Church by Pomp, at home by Heavenly Rest.  
It graced their Master's Service to maintain  
In ease themselves, his Favourite Gentlemen.  
On their soft Beds the Morn they dosed away,  
And left the Choir the drudgery to pray;  
And to Rich lofty Cushions to supply  
Their Rooms i' Church, and raise God's Honour high.  
God was well served, though Priests were never there;  
Bright Residentiaries the Cushions were.  
The Holy Men eat, drunk and slept with Zeal,  
For Heaven's honour, and the Church's weal;  
Kept from themselves all Sacrilegious toil;  
True to their Fat they were, as Rheims to Oil,  
To anoint Gallique Kings an Angel brought  
Much Unctuous Fat God sent his Holy Lot,  
Our pious Canons, which to keep from waste  
Careful they were, not to preach, pray or fast;  
Or only fast to give themselves a whet,  
So when they charged, the Rout was dreadful Great.  
Sometimes shoal lulling Sermons from 'em streamed;  
But Ah! so gently, when they preached they seemed  
Like Halcyons brooding o'er, a slumbering Wave,  
To the Cathedral peaceful calms they gave.  
No croaking Preacher, spoiled with tedious din,  
Good Sunday Dinners, or sweet weekly Sin.  
No noise was there but of Harmonious sound,  
Division there only in Song was found.  
When horrid Discord reared her snaky Head,  
To see who entertained, a calm so dead,  
So loathed by her. Her Empire she surveyed,  
And found her will, by Millions was obeyed.  
Gladly she saw in each well governed State  
The Law, with formal Pomp support debate.  
But Churches highly pleased her Ear and Eye,  
She saw all Churches set her Honour high.  
Yet our Cathedral only in Music loud,  
Lodged Peace in scorn of Discord and her crowd.  
Discord in Rage parched on the lofty Dome,  
And from her Mouth she Reigned a poisonous foam  
Which cracked the Glass; Martyred the Apostles there;  
Then with a sigh, which made Trees shed their Hair;  
Fouled the Church-plate, that all its splendours died  
Like Men in Damps; she vented thus her pride.  
How dar'st thou, proud Cathedral, Friendship show  
To peace, (said she) my known, and vanquished Foe,  
Which round the World I've spurned? Where has she rest?  
In one fair Realm sh'as scarce one single Breast.  
How often there in the same person Fight,  
Whig, Tory, Williamite, and Jacobite,  
Who have by turns the better of the fray;  
As French or Irish get or lose the day;  
Or as the hands of their good Moses rise,  
Well to reward, or sharply to chastise.  
I've made myself a Barricado strong,  
Of stiff Non-swearers, a most stubborn throng,  
Who by no Art to yield can be compelled,  
And grow more hard like Trees, by being felled.  
Nay even some Swearers to advance my Reign,  
The Crown secured by Law unfix again;  
Carve Power by Conquest which is carved by Law,  
Some Swearers against these keen Weapons draw  
Between 'em Peace and Truth, lead wretched Lives,  
These Fighters wound 'em with their Carving-knives  
Me above Church and State all Nations set,  
And dares one Church neglect a Power so great?  
Woes for thee this provoking Crime provides.  
Straight her enormous Figure Discord hides  
With a square Cap, a Surplice, Hood and Gown;  
Nor from an old Sour Canon could be known.  
Most true to Discord; he waged endless War  
With Peace, in Presses, Pulpits, at the Bar,  
All Bars of Civil and of Canon Laws,  
To Law he went, with or without a cause.  
With Suits at Law all his Tythe-corn he ground,  
Ay, and himself, and all his Neighbours round.  
He would not spare his Purse, Brain, Flesh or Bone,  
To stir the clack of Lawyers and his own.  
Discord and wrangling highly to promote,  
He railed, he sued, he studied, and he wrote;  
Toiled unlike God, from light he darkness spun;  
Worlds by this Anti-Maker were undone.  
He preached for malice, in the Pulpit boiled,  
Till Dinners and Devotions both were spoiled.  
When his thin Flock by Winter Winds were Flayed,  
To gall the Sore he'd a long Service Read;  
Then far above his Hour in Pulpit Rail.  
Then tack an Altar Service to the Tail,  
Till all their Meat was burnt, and Noses Raw,  
To provoke some to give him Food for Law.  
Dissent, assent, his Deuce detain or pay,  
(Though not to Heaven) to Court's the certain way.  
By this good Guide all they were sure to find,  
Who conformed not in all things to his mind:  
If pious Reverence they forgot to show  
To Altars, and his Person by a bow;  
And did not Service so exactly mark,  
To start at all Responses with the Clerk,  
To pour their Voices in the muttering throng,  
And help to push the murmuring Stream along;  
If they nicked not their times to kneel and rise,  
And on these faults his Spectacles were spies.  
But woe to Hugonots remote or nigh;  
From his hot busy Zeal, and watchful Eye,  
Proctors and Paritours had wealthy spoil,  
And Constables an Everlasting toil.  
Baptismal Water, Sacramental Wine  
Cast away much of the Reformers Coin.  
Basins and Bowls not blest with legal forms  
Were sure to meet with most confounding storms.  
Discord had chose this Canon for her own,  
And therefore marked his Brow with many a frown.  
His lean Cheeks wrangled, all the wrinkles clashed  
whenever they met, and deep his Visage slashed,  
Therefore his Figure Discord wisely wore,  
For none could fit her better, please her more.   

Canto the Second.  
TO the Deans Palace stormy Discord steered,  
And finds the bulky Prelate Sepulchred  
In an Alcove and down; in hopes at last  
Of joyful Resurrection to Repast.  
In his fair spreading Cheeks, the Church's charge  
Had raised a Garden beautiful and large;  
And in two stories built his goodly Chin,  
To let these run to Ruin were a Sin.  
The Holy Man did no Expenses spare,  
To keep 'em faithfully in good Repair;  
And every part about him fat and sound,  
For they were Church Demeans and holy Ground.  
Rich Curtains gave his slumbers strong defence,  
Against Day's Sacrilegious violence.  
Soft Pillows hid his Cheeks, and let no Air  
Approach to harm the lively Flowers there:  
For Youth's Spring Flowers in his Autumn grew,  
Those Cheeks possessing which were Ages due.  
All things in order were for Dinner laid,  
When the great Goddess her proud Entry made.  
The exact order highly pleased her Eye;  
She knew the Church by scrupulous decency.  
In all the joys of Silence, Ease and Pride,  
And with a Breakfast strongly fortified,  
The Dean attending Dinner slumbering lay;  
When thus the Goddess drove his Rest away.  
Wake quickly Dean, said she, or wake no more;  
A Chanter haughtily usurps thy Power,  
Shines in the Choir with thy Prelatique Grace,  
And awes it with the same commanding Face.  
All Bows of Singers are to him addressed;  
All Congregations by his Mouth are blest;  
He graces' all the Saints High Solemn days,  
When to oblige 'em he in person prays.  
Shortly he'll Youth Confirm, and Priests Ordain,  
And scarce to thee thy Rochet shall remain.  
Renounce thy Prelacy, or thy Repose,  
Thy Fortune dooms thee one of'em to lose.  
This said, she breathes into him, through his Ear,  
The Spirit of a common Barreter.  
He wakes and yawns, and with half-opened Eyes,  
Gives the dire Fiend his Blessing as he flies;  
Then like a raging Bull with Hornets stung  
Around the Chamber his Fat Body flung;  
Chid Maids and Lackeys, why he did not know,  
And before Dinner to the Choir will go.  
But his wise Steward much allayed his Rage,  
By Councils Seasonable, Calm and Sage.  
What Fury's this (said he) has seized your mind,  
And hurries you to Church ere you ha' Dined?  
Oft have you left the work of saving Souls,  
To sport some Hours at Tables, Chess or Bowls,  
But for the Church ne'er Dinner left till now;  
The Dresser-board is ready for the blow.  
Your Cook now foams, and so does your Pottage,  
With your Judicious Palate to engage.  
And if your Rost-meats you compel to stay,  
Sir, they will weep their Gravy all away.  
Your Haut-gousts now most vigorous and strong,  
Will sicken if in cold they tarry long;  
And never be revived by second heat,  
Sir, if you go, you'll Murder all your Meat.  
It is not Lent; say 'twere, it seems a waste  
Of Holiness in Holy Men to Fast.  
Your Tongues and Pens support Church Rites and Laws,  
What need y'engage your Bowels in the Cause?  
Sure 'twas the Church's Motherly intent  
Lent should keep Prelates, and not Prelates Lent.  
Religiously support your high degree,  
Do not by toil debase your Dignity.  
This said, he wisely covered all the Cloth  
With Crowds of Dishes, and a Tide of Broth.  
Much on the pious Dean this Vision wrought;  
His Cloth a while St. Peter's Sheet he thought;  
A Treat let down from Heaven in a Dream,  
Till his pleased Nostrils felt th' inviting Steam.  
Then fiercely he applied himself to eat,  
Proved it was more than Visionary Meat.  
Fast o'er the Tongue he turned his Morsels all,  
Like Morning Collects at a Festival;  
Eat till he choked himself, but not his wrath,  
He champed his Words and Meat confusedly both.  
He skipped from Dish to Dish, he knew not why,  
No order minded, nor sweet decency.  
The Steward thought his Master's end was near,  
He knew not Creatures which he loved so dear;  
And in great sorrow was about to run  
To summon Friends; but Fame that work had done.  
They scattering came like Troops of daunted Cranes,  
When the proud Pigmy a recruit obtains.  
The Visit raised the Prelate from Despair,  
Chased from his Visage the late furious Air.  
So pleased he was with the respect they showed,  
That he vouchsafed to rise, nay more, he bowed:  
Commanded the Westphalia-Ham again,  
Filled Wine himself to honour the good Men,  
Drunk first and deeply; the Example pleased,  
And straight a Flagon of its load was eased.  
He kindly moved 'em then to take a part  
Of what remained, and of a fair desert;  
The Table clear, out burst his inward pain.  
Dear Friends (said he) by whose support I Reign,  
Myself your charitable Work I own,  
Which the proud Chanter thinks to tumble down.  
At least by interposing in my Rights,  
To make me useless, and blind up my lights.  
To him do all Church Officers repair;  
At his command the Sexton Rings to Prayer.  
Chapters are held at his usurping call;  
What need of Deans, if Chanters can do all?  
But than Tears stopped the current of his talk:  
His Loving Steward empowered his Tongue to walk  
With cheerful Wine, when Boyrude bending low  
With heavy Age, with trembling steps and slow  
Entered the Room. The Church had used his pains  
In four successive Deans Illustrious Reigns.  
None in Church Customs was so skilled as he;  
He was a living true Church History.  
His knowledge raised him from a Sexton poor,  
To the high Trust of all Church Garniture,  
Great Office! Robes are often half the Dean,  
This Rules those Robes, ordains 'em to be clean.  
One in this Office half a Dean Ordains,  
O'er half a Dean as Dean he proudly Reigns.  
He has in part an Arch-prelatique Power;  
He's of one College parcel visitor.  
At first approach the Reverend Sage, espics  
The Deans demolished Pride and grovelling Eyes.  
Guessing the cause he smiling towards him moved,  
And Fatherlike his Childish grief reproved.  
For shame (said he) let the poor Chanter weep,  
Your Rights and Empire study you to keep.  
Hark to the Counsel Heaven does now inspire;  
Where the proud Chanter overlooks the Choir  
With frowning arrogance, some Ages past  
The Church was shaded with an Engine vast,  
Desk, Throne, or Pulpit, call it what you please:  
At once it served Devotion, Pomp and Ease.  
There Throned in Glory, I have seen a Dean,  
In Vestments Rich, on Velvet Cushions lean.  
Prayer-books Embossed with Gold before him shone,  
Which drew all Eyes upon 'em but his own.  
A Worm stolen from a Grave the Chanter seemed,  
Just visible enough to be contemned.  
Time, Fate or Fiends, malicious Men, or all,  
(For they're all Foes to good) conspired its fall.  
Malicious Men we think by secret Art,  
Gave it a Sickness in some Noble part,  
That never visited nor minded well,  
One Morn it yawned, and down to Ruin fell.  
And to its worth the ungrateful Choir unjust,  
Laid it in dark forgetfulness and dust.  
What honoured once the Choir, has now forlorn,  
Lain thirty Winters languishing in scorn.  
Three of us, fit for such a great Affair,  
Will Perewiged in Night's dishevelled Hair,  
Steal to the Pulpit, in its mournful Room,  
And gloriously Reward its Martyrdom.  
If once to murmur the proud Chanter dare,  
The Wretch with Forty Biting Actions tear.  
Since not in Learning be in Law Renowned.  
Show a Church Spirit, the whole Church confound,  
Ere quit a Title of your sacred Right;  
Let Laymen pray, Prelates are known by Might.  
Your Divine dazzling Right dart at your Foe;  
Then to the Church in all Church splendour go;  
And there Browbeat th' Usurper to the ground;  
Then to outbrave him disperse Blessings round.  
To blast his Pride, and show yourself Supreme,  
Bless all the Congregation, nay bless him.  
The Counsel seemed to admiration wise;  
The Dean in Ravishments, with lifted Eyes,  
heavens Inspiration most devoutly blest;  
But strait a new Reflection struck his Breast.  
I now have in the Choir, a Seat, (said he)  
Clothed with Rich Cushions Crowned with Canopy,  
On what pretence can I Erect this Throne?  
Boyrude replied, a most Religious one,  
Sermons to hear. Th' Assembly trembled all  
With horror at the sound Fanatical.  
The Prelate hotly fired profanely swore;  
And almost called for an Inquisitor.  
Dar'st thou (said he) Name Sermons in my Ear?  
I'll be no Dean ere buy the place so dear.  
I'll rather Combat with wild Beasts like Paul,  
Or like Isaiah be Sawed once for all,  
Than weekly be with Torturing Sermons Sawed,  
Postpone my Meals, and be with Fasting gnawed;  
Nay more myself into the Toil they'll fetch,  
And I myself shall be obliged to preach.  
Make potent Prelates preach? The Sage replies;  
Pray by what Rule? You are not Tongues, but Eyes.  
Our Eyes guide all our Limbs yet keep their Ease;  
Labour becomes not highest Dignities.  
Sect'ries like Jews with wander are perplexed,  
Doomed all their Lives to rove from Text to Text,  
Die in that Wilderness, and ne'er possess  
Rome's Blessed Holy Land of Laziness;  
A Land that flows with Honey, Milk and Gains,  
At heavens sole cost, and not the Owners pains.  
Of this y'ave more than a dim Pisgah sight;  
And Ease is your inviolable Right.  
Make Canons preach; and while the work is done,  
Let your austere grave presence lash 'em on.  
By their dull Saws no doubt you will be pained,  
But you'll with sweet Revenge be Entertained.  
They've uncanonical Rebellious Tongues,  
And from 'em you've received a thousand wrongs.  
Like Jades in Water-works, Sir, make 'em sweat,  
Till from 'em penitential drops you get.  
Then you'll soon have Revenge and reverence both;  
Soon at your Feet they'll fall to compass sloth.  
Into a loud Applause th' Assembly broke,  
And thought Man never with more Wisdom spoke.  
All start, of Fame to have the greatest share,  
But the wise Dean reduced 'em as they were.  
All things in Church by Order must be done,  
(Said he) that rears and fixes every Throne.  
None shall approach this Work, but those whom Fate  
Shall by a Lot Ordain and Consecrate.  
Thirty selected Names are writ with haste,  
And in the bottom of a Bonnet cast.  
Fairly to draw the Billets, they employ  
Rosie-cheeked Will that pretty Singing boy;  
His Head new polled, his Face and Linen clean,  
Though no Saints day, for much he pleased the Dean.  
The Prelate all partiality disclaims;  
Having thrice blest, as often shakes the Names.  
Will draws, and Trole is the first Name that comes:  
Birds promised good, which freely pecked their Crumbs;  
Sure no ill Augury could now be Read,  
This Red-beaked Bird from Liquor never fled.  
A pleasing murmur in the Throng was raised,  
And Fortune's choice by every one was praised.  
Will to his Office does again Repair;  
And draws a Name, most fatal to the Fair,  
Of a young Singing-man whose Charms ('tis said)  
Had been the Death of many a Chambermaid.  
Nay, his keen mounting Darts reached lofty Game,  
Threatened high Ranks with loss of Life or Fame.  
Whatever Beauty ogled him was lost,  
Transformed into a Strumpet or a Ghost.  
Yet to the dangerous Snare they ventured all:  
His Silver Pipe was a true Lady-call,  
Which both Church-pews and Playhouse-boxes crammed,  
Enticed the Fair both to be Saved and Damned.  
But Oh! That Lady gained the height of Bliss,  
Whom he in private taught to Sing and Kiss.  
Long the soft Sex did for the Youth contend;  
Some took their Eyes, some Money for their Friend.  
Some had him all, and some had modest shares,  
Some cleared their Tones, some gave a crack to theirs.  
To him his Fortune gave a second choice,  
And now they go to ask Fates last Advice.  
Their Names and panting Hearts are tossed again.  
Each fearing Fate his Person should disdain.  
Honest old Verger! What sincere delight  
Shook thy dry Corpse, when they Name rose in sight?  
Thy Yellow Cheeks turned Red, and with a shout  
Thou backwards gav'st a spring in spite of Gout.  
Now Loyal true Church Hearts, who for Church weal  
Had an unquenchable Religious Zeal,  
Much praised Fate's choice of Men for Church Affairs,  
And wished all Realms as able Ministers;  
All Kings as deep in sight, as Fate had shown  
In choosing Men, to serve the Church and Throne.  
On the design now all prepare to go;  
And in a murmuring Stream, away they flow  
To the Deans Cellar, where they rend the Arch  
With Drunken Songs, and sounded oft a March.  
The Prelate calmed, resumed his lost Repose,  
And now till Supper, laid him down to Dose.   

Canto the Third.  
NOW Night was in the middle of her Reign,  
Great was her Pomp, and spacious was her Train.  
From her large Throne of Jet she saw the proud  
High Towers of Paris scorn an humble Cloud.  
Ravens, and all the Prophets o' the Air  
Nightly to Dormitories near repair.  
Amongst the rest for twenty Winters foul,  
In a dark Cave, a Sibyl called an Owl  
Secured herself from day's oppressing light;  
And fled abroad to prophesy at Night.  
Of great disasters she has early sense,  
Is an Impartial true Intelligence.  
All Sects believe her though she joins with none;  
The Schismatic flies all Communion.  
Night for her healing touch Nature Enthrones,  
She often cures both crazy Minds and Bones.  
Kings fallen with Care below even common Men,  
She Re-anoints, and makes 'em Kings again.  
Day wears, but Night repairs, nay makes Mankind,  
The only Labour to her Reign assigned.  
Therefore this Ethiope with day divides  
The Rule of Time; half through her Empire slides.  
Angry to see her Reign profaned with toil,  
She posted to suppress the noisy broil,  
And the bold Authors; for the great Affair,  
She chose this Owl her premier Minister,  
And called her out; her Black Queen's Voice she knew,  
To her Retinue joyfully she flew.  
Both swiftly through th' August Cathedral past,  
And found the Prison of the Engine vast.  
It lay neglected in a Desert Room;  
Night placed her Bird deep in its dusty Womb.  
Now Trole and Minnum two great Chiefs Elect,  
Left the Deans Vault, and the slow Verger checked.  
He was as Vigorous as they in Mind,  
But Age and Gout detained him far behind.  
Besides th' old Tortoise carried on his Back  
Of Necessary Tools a boisterous pack,  
As Hammer, Chissels, Mallet, Saw, and Nails,  
Under whose weight his wasted Vigour fails.  
The Warriors force through Night's affrightful shade,  
The high proud Dome then Valiantly Invade.  
First they ascend to the magnific Porch,  
Which stored the Valued Learning of the Church.  
The Verger stopped the Troop, whilst with the dint  
Of Steel, he cut the Veins of stubborn Flint,  
And forced from thence a Spark; the Infant bright  
As soon as Born begot another light,  
Which proves to them a kind of Midnight Sun,  
By whose direction boldly they go on.  
Th' unfolding Gates upon the Troop let loose  
Detested Shades, like Floods through opening Sluice.  
Like a bold Caravan the Stream they stem,  
The Horrors and the Solitude contemn,  
So on in wild's where never was a Road;  
And reach at length the Pulpits dark abode.  
Their Wonders on the fallen Machine they Feast,  
Like Birds upon the Carcase of a Beast.  
How now (said Minnum) come we here to gaze?  
And then ambitious to engross the praise,  
With a stiff threatening Arm, and bending back,  
He singly made a desperate Attaque.  
Ere half his force the Engine had received,  
(Astonishing! and not to be believed,)  
A horrid Voice out of the Pulpit flew,  
Th' old Verger from his Back his Burden threw;  
The Fire out of Troles flaming Visage strayed,  
Only in his Nose, as in a Socket played.  
Pale Minnum like a Lily hung his Head,  
With his lost Mistress wished himself i' Bed:  
But fearing shame he put false Courage on,  
Seemed bolder now more danger might be won.  
The frightful dangerous Engine shook once more,  
With greater Rosolution than before.  
The angry Owl once more deprived of Ease,  
Rushes abroad with louder Menaces,  
Scattering a Storm of Wind and Dust about,  
Which put their Candle and their Courage out.  
Their trembling Knees could not their Bodies bear;  
Their Nerves were weaker than their staring Hair.  
In wild confusion they slunk all away,  
Like Truants by their Whipster catched at Play.  
Discord raged at their foil, and in despite  
Of their base fear will force 'em to the Fight.  
In Boyrudes withered Figure she appears  
Aged, but worn with wrangling more than years;  
Wrinkled, but Malice half the Ciphers made,  
And claim to half his wasted Visage laid.  
Her bending Trunk she with a Staff supports,  
And halls to find her Warriors dark resorts.  
With broken voice, and hoarse with frequent brawl  
She cries, where are you fled you Cowards all?  
Think you because your odious Head you hide,  
Your Infamy more odious is not spied.  
Come out and show the reason of your fear;  
Stung with reproof, with boldness they appear,  
Proud of th' Encounter, and prepared to boast,  
For all of 'em believed the Owla Ghost.  
Minnum was fixed in the Opinion strong;  
His Charms had killed a Sempstress fair and young.  
Her Heart was crushed between his Voice and Face,  
The Kingdom had not such a dangerous place.  
His Fault had fixed her in the fatal Snare:  
She often came to gaze on him at Prayer,  
And when his Eye was from the Book released,  
He glances shot which pierced her tender Breast.  
At length, Alas! she perished in the fray,  
Her ruin therefore heavy on him lay.  
What shape could more exactly fit her Soul,  
Than that of an unlovely bashful Owl,  
Whom the winged Chanters drive out of their sight,  
And make her live in melancholy Night.  
With these Conceits they swelling came, and crammed;  
Minnum for th' Owl a doleful Speech had framed.  
Said he, we saw a Ghost or Goblin Foul,  
Goblin, replied the Goddess, a poor Owl,  
Drives you from Glory by base childish fears.  
The Owl has been my Neighbour thirty years.  
Near my own House she every Evening makes  
And sends abroad her Nightly Almanacs.  
Fear you a foolish timorous Owls grimace?  
How durst ye Encounter then a Judge's Face?  
Board Lawyers without Fees, as I have done,  
And to myself Immortal Glory won.  
Judges from me could not protect the Bar,  
Where spite of 'em my Deeds recorded are.  
Oh! Sirs the Church produced brave Spirits then,  
A Sexton was as surly as a Dean;  
Boar wrongs as proudly, and forgave as few,  
The least of us would a whole Chapter Sue.  
But the old World grows Barren by degrees,  
And breeds no more such Gallant Souls as these.  
However imitate their Virtue's great,  
Let not an Owl compel you to retreat.  
Think what dishonour on yourselves you throw,  
How insolent you'll make the Chanter grow.  
From Texts he cannot borrow such control,  
As from the shameful Story o' the Owl.  
The thought o'th' Owl will ride you Night and Day;  
Dis-spirit you though you be ne'er so gay;  
Untune your Voices, when you'd sing your best,  
Ruffle your Plumes when you are neatly dressed,  
Your Surplices, Wigs, Cravats, set with care;  
The Women will regard you less than Prayer;  
The Pews will be neglected by degrees,  
And the old Verger lose his Sunday Fees.  
I hear a murmur say, your Spirits rise,  
And I see Noble Fury in your Eyes.  
Away to Honour, gather Laurels fast,  
With present Bravery, hide Dishonour past.  
This said, the Warlike Goddess took her flight,  
And mounting streaked the Air with tracks of Light,  
Which fired our Champion's Hearts. The Howlard fled,  
A generous contempt succeeded dread.  
Th' Affront received from the vile saucy Foe,  
On th' Engine was revenged by many a blow.  
In mournful Tones the pitying Organ moaned,  
And all the Sympathising Temple groaned.  
Ah! when this spacious wooden Horse was reared,  
If thou, Oh! Chanter! hadst the Treason heard,  
Thou in defence of Ecclesiastic pride,  
Like a fierce Church Apostle, wouldst have died;  
Rather great Martyr been, than Chanter small,  
And in Red Letters shine ere not at all.  
But sleep thou feedest does with thy Foes combine,  
And hug thee whilst they compass their design.  
For now a lofty Ecclesiastic Throne  
Buries thy Bench, where thou so long hast shone.   

Canto the Fourth.  
THE Clocks do now begin their Morning brawl,  
And drowsy Chanters to their Matins call.  
Their Chief was troubled with a frightful Dream,  
Which made him sweat, and waken with a scream.  
His trembling Valets on his second cries,  
Forsake their warm enticing Down, and rise.  
But wakeful Gerot reached his Master first,  
An humble Valet, but a Verger cursed.  
He kept the Choir on the sinister side,  
He crouched at home, but there he showed his pride.  
Mean were his common Customers for Pues,  
So in their humble Bows he took his Deuce.  
Said he, what Humour drives your Rest away,  
Will you to Church when it is scarcely day?  
Sleep on, your Business is to take your Ease,  
Let vulgar Chanters Earn their Salaries.  
Friend, said the Chanter, trembling, faint and pale,  
Your Mirth would die, if you knew what I ail.  
Insult not o'er me, but prepare to hear  
Th' amazing cause of my surprising fear.  
When sleep had twice upon my Eyes bestowed  
Of drowsy Poppies, a fresh gathered load;  
I dreamt I filled my lofty Seat in Prayer,  
Triumphing o'er the minor Chanters there,  
Absolving, Chanting, taking Humble bows,  
Giving the Blessing; all with frowning Brows:  
When a great Dragon, with Jaws dreadful wide  
Souzed on my Bench, and swallowed all my Pride.  
Then Rage Tongue-tied him; Gerot laughing loud,  
Said Dreams were fumes from ill-concocted Food;  
Cooks with ill-sawce, could every Night bestow  
On childish Fancies, such a Poppet-show.  
The sad old Man could ne'er with mirth agree  
But now abhorred his ill-timed Raillery;  
Forbade him speaking, and from Bed he flings.  
Gerot to calm him his Rich Habit brings;  
Which very little could his mind sustain,  
For if his Desk be hid, all those were vain.  
But yet their offered Grace he will not slight;  
He rushed into his Gown, and Surplice white.  
But above all he will not leave behind,  
His spacious Scarlet Hood, with Tabby lined.  
His haughty heart would break, if he should lack  
That proof of Learning, to adorn his Back.  
With his best Bonnet than he graced his Brow,  
Sole mark of Learning his white Head could show.  
His purple Gloves he never failed to wear,  
When he would honour much himself and Prayer.  
And marching now in Battle to engage,  
Omitted no Illustrious Equipage,  
Then much beyond the weakness of his years  
Pushed on, and earliest in the Choir appears.  
But Oh! what spite and fury fired his Blood,  
When on his Bench he saw the Pulpit stood?  
Oh! Gerot see! said he, the Dragon see,  
Which broke my sleep, and now will swallow me.  
Oh! faithful Dream, thou too much truth hast shown;  
The Dean is an Ingenious Tyrant grown;  
By this Machine, does wittily contrive,  
To send me to Infernal Shades alive.  
Nothing but God will ever see me here;  
Dark shadows will expunge my Character.  
Ere such a horrible affront I'll bear,  
I'll quit my Office, and the Church forswear;  
I'll give my vain superfluous Chanting o'er,  
And tire the Ears of God and Man no more.  
I'll never toil that Deans may Glory win,  
Nor see that Choir where I shall ne'er be seen.  
'Tis time enough to go to Shades when dead,  
I'll now have Light: Then his old Arms he spread  
With fury strong, and shook the wondrous frame,  
When th' Organist and the Clock-mender came,  
His faithful Friends. The Vision struck 'em wan,  
With trembling hands they held th' old venturous Man;  
Said they, the work's too weighty for us all;  
By a full Chapter let the Monster fall.  
In open day; 'twill your great party show,  
Strengthen yourself, and terrify the Foe.  
Right, said the Chanter; go, by noise or force,  
The sleeping Canons from their Bed's divorce.  
The Champions trembled when beyond their thought  
Their Counsel on themselves such danger brought.  
Oh! moderate your anger, Sir, said they,  
Awaken Rich Fat Canons before day?  
Men doubly Buried both in Flesh and Down?  
Th' Attempt is rare, the Deed was never known,  
Starved Monks a Alarm in their Bosoms keep  
Hunger; a watchful Enemy to sleep.  
Their thin worn Wheels are soon in motion set,  
But who can stir a Canon mired in Fat?  
Deceitful Cowards th' old testy Man, replied,  
Your terror of the Dean you fain would hide.  
A hundred times, I've seen you crouching stand  
With servile Necks, beneath his Blessing Hand.  
The work, good Gerot, shall by us be done,  
Our Friends for once shall shame the loyt'ring Sun.  
Cunning old Gerot knew the Canons well  
〈◊〉 his worn Lungs, rung the great Master Bell;  
Which like the heavy Dean but served for State,  
And almost broke the Church with needless weight.  
Th' unchristned Bell, with Sacrilegious roar,  
From his strong Camp the God of slumbers tore;  
Broke open all the Holy Canons Eyes;  
And made the Devis of noise and tumult rise.  
Some believed Thunder broke into the Room,  
Others half feared it was the Day of Doom.  
Some Priests less scared, thought 'twas a dying knell,  
Some keenly hungry hoped 'twas Pancake-bell.  
The sound with different sense filled every head,  
Like a dark Text wondrous confusion bred.  
So when to batter down a hundred Walls,  
The thundering Lewis leaves the fair Versailles  
To the young Spring, not valuing her delights,  
And with spread Banners all the World affrights;  
Danow to th' Euxin hastes his March to shun,  
Swift Rhy●● 〈◊〉 great commotion hurries on.  
Brussels for rending Bombs looks every hour,  
And Sodom-like to feel a fiery Shower.  
Rich skirted Tagus creeps far under ground,  
And hides much Treasure there in Vaults profound.  
Amphibious Holland plunges deep in Waves,  
Buries itself alive in watery Graves.  
So under Blankets the Priests ducked their Heads,  
Sought a warm easy Burial in their Beds.  
Vexatious Gerot knew their temper well,  
With potent words he seconded the Bell.  
Ho! Breakfast waits the cunning Verger cries,  
At that Angelic Summons they arise,  
In Expectations of Divine Delights:  
All look their clothes, but none their Appetites.  
For they were ready ere their Gowns were on:  
Headlong undressed to the great Hall they run,  
But 'stead of Breakfast met a mournful Tale,  
Told by the Chanter, with great fury pale;  
Who as a Pestilence were in his Breath,  
Struck mighty Hunger with a sudden Death.  
Everard painful abstinence abhorred,  
And bade the Verger cover strait the Board.  
To that once savoury motion no Man spoke,  
At length Learned Allen the deep silence broke.  
He only of all the Priests our Church obeyed,  
Had not his Latin smothered and o'relayed.  
Others by wealth to dulness did advance,  
And with the Churches Coin bought Ignorance.  
But he had wandered from that practised Rule,  
And was as Learned as when he came from School●  
His Roman Tongue there gave him mighty Power,  
There he was almost Roman Emperor.  
None in his presence durst lay claim to Parts,  
For if they did his Latin stabbed their Hearts.  
This Tyrant yet was their Defence and Grace;  
Latin was such a terror to the place,  
All other Canons fled at first Alarms,  
Of men approaching with such dreadful Arms.  
But Noble Allen scorned his Head to hide,  
And sturdy shocks of Latin durst abide.  
Most Learnedly Equipped, th' accomplished Man  
Having first coughed, his wise Harangue began.  
Some Huguenots our cursed Eternal Foes,  
Planted this here, to batter our repose.  
In some Church History they have read, I fear,  
Canons once preached, and Deans sat here to hear.  
I range in Volumes not to poach for Art,  
But to meet Latin which delights my Heart.  
Let us all study with what speed we may,  
And show ourselves as deeply Learned as they.  
About this Pulpit then, let's quickly sound,  
All Learned Men in these great things profound.  
Th' unlooked for Counsel all the Assembly scared,  
But made an Earthquake in Fat Everard;  
Who shaking with astonishment and rage,  
How I (said he) turn Schoolboy in my Age?  
Do thou look pale, and wither o'er a Book,  
I ne'er so much as on the Bible look.  
I only Study when our Rents are due,  
When Leases fall, and Tenants should renew.  
Books I abhor, they fill the Church with Schisms;  
Much mischief we have had from Syllogisms.  
If to Religion you would Converts make,  
Burn Books and Men say I, and use a Stake.  
I will not vex my Head, my Arm alone,  
Shall without Latin throw this Pulpit down.  
I care not what Heretic Rascals say;  
What troubles me I'll throw out o' my way.  
So let's prepare for the Renowned design,  
And when accomplished, plentifully Dine.  
No sooner the word Dinner past their Ears,  
Than up their Stomaches rose, down fell their fears.  
But than the Chanter none more bold and great,  
Said he, this Tub too long has made us sweat.  
Do Deans fear Dust, they must be cased like Clocks?  
Would they like Cent'ries awe us from a Box?  
In our Church Pillar is some rottenness spread,  
To hide himself he would be Wainscotted?  
My Vengeance on this Foppery I'll throw;  
And an Hours Fasting on the work bestow.  
This done at once we'll break our Fast, and Dine,  
And two fair Meals with both their portions join.  
By this inspired, the haughty Champions go  
With an audacious Zeal to charge the Foe.  
The Walls vain aid to the poor Engine lent,  
The Nails in vain their Iron Fingers bend,  
The Champions vanquished all resistance found.  
The battered Engine fell with many a Wound.  
Antichrist never had such dreadful blows,  
From mighty Priests who were his bitter Foes,  
For as this Pulpit was, he's wondrous high,  
A great Usurper of Church Vanity.  
Therefore have many railed at him aloud,  
He will let no Man but himself be proud.  
Now the Dean's State of late so high and great,  
Once more is in a Sea of Darkness set.   
FINIS.