XCIV. The varlet was not an ill-favour'd knave; gave eye, which A smart and sharper looking sort of grace To his whole aspect, which, though rather grave, Was by no means so ugly as his case; But that indeed was hopeless as can be, Quite a poetic felony de se. XCV. Then Michael blew his trump, and still'd the noise Lift up their lungs when fairly overcrow'd ; XCVI. He said—(I only give the heads)—he said, Of which he butter'd both sides; 't would delay XCVII. He'd written praises of a regicide; He'd written praises of all kings whatever, He'd written for republics, far and wide, And then against them, bitterer than ever; For pantisocracy he once had cried Aloud, a scheme less moral than 't was clever; Then grew a hearty anti-jacobin Had turn'd his coat-and would have turn'd his skin. XCVIII. He'd sung against all battles, and again In their high praise and glory; he had call'd By whom his muse and morals had been maul'd : He'd written much blank verse, and blanker prose, And more of both than any body knows. XCIX. He'd written Wesley's life :-here, turning round With notes and preface, all that most allures other saints." C. Sathan bow'd, and was silent. "Well, if you, My offer, what says Michael? There are few As it was once, but I would make you shine CI. "But talking about trumpets, here's my Vision! I settle all these things by intuition, Times present, past, to come, heaven, hell, and all, Like King Alphonso! 2 When I thus see double, I save the deity some worlds of trouble." CII. He ceased, and drew forth an MS.; and no CIII. Those grand heroics acted as a spell; The angels stopp'd their ears and plied their pinions; The devils ran howling, deafen'd down to hell; The ghosts fled, gibbering, for their own dominions (For 't is not yet decided where they dwell, And I leave every man to his opinions); Michael took refuge in his trump-but, lo! His teeth were set on edge, he could not blow! CIV. Saint Peter, who has hitherto been known A different web being by the destinies CV. He first sunk to the bottom-like his works, It may be, still, like dull books on a shelf, 4 In his own den, to scrawl some "Life" or "Vision," As Wellborn says "the devil turn'd precisian." CVI. As for the rest, to come to the conclusion And show'd me what I in my turn have shown: All I saw further in the last confusion, Was, that King George slipp'd into heaven for one ; And when the tumult dwindled to a calm, I left him practising the hundredth psalm. NOTES. Note 1. Stanza xcvii. Reviewing "the ungentle craft," and then. See "Life of Henry Kirke White." Note 2. Stanza ci. Like King Alfonso! King Alfonso, speaking of the Ptolomean system, said, that "had he been consulted at the creation of the world, he would have spared the Maker some absurdities." Note 3. Stanza cii. Like lightning, off from his "melodious twang." See Aubrey's account of the apparition which disappeared" with a curious perfume and a melodious twang;" or see the Antiquary, vol. 1. Note 4. Stanza cv. For all corrupted things are buoy'd, like corks, By their own rottenness. A drowned body lies at the bottom till rotten; it then floats, as most people know. |