Classic Poem

The Desk. An Heroique Poem. First Canto.

I sing of Battels and that sacred Wight,
Who by long contests and unconquer'd might
In Pourges, fam'd by his great acts, at last
A fatal Desk within a Chappel plac't:
In vain to cross his high designs the Chanter twice
Made the whole Chapter in rebellion rise,
This Dean by's Sexton's aid did all withstand,
And to the last his Churche's cause maintain'd:
Tell me, o Muse, what spite, what baneful rage
Could holy men in such fierce broils engage;
What made so long the two fam'd rivals jar:
Can devout minds so much of malice bear?

And You, great S r , whose wise preventing pow'r
Gave this the Churche's growing Schism a cure,
Bless with your kind regards the great affair,
And from so grave a subject laughter bar:
Long time had Pourges ancient Church enjoid
A constant peace, by nought of broils annoid;
Her healthful Canons in good plight and case,
Thriv'd and grew fat by long and holy ease:
Without one's stirring from his downy bed
These godly Sluggards had their Matins said,
Ne're wak'd but just to dine, and in their place
Left the deputed Chanters God to praise.
When Discord, with foul Crimes all over staind,
And proud with late success of conquests gaind,
In chase of new, leaving the Cordeliers
Now her next course towards the Minims steers,
Dreadful her march, and wheresoe're she hies,
Peace stands amaz'd aloof, or trembling flies,
Meeting at length her Palace in her walk,
By some near tree she stops, and makes an halt;
There with glad eys her empire she surveys,
Pleas'd at the tumult she her self dos raise
There sees she, wheresoever she lets rome
A wandring view, her faithful Normans come,
There sees she in vast crowds each trice resort
The Laity, Clergy, Country, City, Court;
And all about Lawy'rs in thick squadrons stand,
And wave the standards of her high command:
One Church alone triumphs o're her designs,
And in soft peace amidst all tumult reigns,
This alone braves, alone her pow'r contemns,
And bars her entrance with a stout defence:
Discord, whom the loth'd sight of quiet alarms,
At this her self and snakes to vengeance arms,
Her mouth around a scatter'd poison throws,
And from her eys fire in long flashes glows:
What? says she, with a voice was seen to make
The Chappel and its whole foundations shake,
Have I till now engag'd in mortal jars
The Carmelites, Celestins, Cordeliers?
Made the poor Austins my fierce anger know,
Much war and many sieges undergo?
Have I so oft by my own force alone
Amongst all Orders seeds of faction sown?
And shall this Church, a rebell only, dare
Spite of my arts in peace to persevere?
Am I a Goddes then? will any more
Mankind my pow'r with sacrifice adore?
This said, she, her foul projects to disguise,
Takes an old Chanter's visage, meen and voice,
Thick flaming rubies paint his warlike face,
And grave Bamboo supports his reeling pace:
She, thus prepar'd, without all further stay
To find the Prelat out directs her way:
Far back in an apartment wisely made,
Where noise can ne're the privacy invade,
Within an alcove's close obscure retreat,
The scene of undisturbed ease and quiet,
A bed with well-stuff'd pride it self dos raise,
Rich with the spoils of all the feather'd race:
Four stately curtains drawn exclude the light,
And in the midst of day create a night:
There, free at once from noise and care and pains
Stretch'd wanton Sloth on downy empire reigns;
There tis, the Dean, with breakfast late refresht,
Waits dinner, and beguiles the time in rest:
Plump Youth sits smiling in his cheerful face
And ore his strutting cheeks her bloom displays:
Two stories down his brace of chins advance,
And strive to meet half way his rising paunch:
Vast bulk and compass his huge wast contains,
And the strait girdle's narrow bounds disdains:
The yielding Bed with weight of such a pack
Shrinks under, and its twisted bedcords crack:
The Goddess entring finds the table spread,
With plates and napkins in just order laid;
Much she admires, and much discovers there
The conduct of the Church and decent care;
Then tow'rds the bed her soft approach she makes,
And with these terms the sleeping Dean bespeaks:
Sleeps't thou? fond man, sleepst thou? while near the place
Ev'n now the Chanter in full Quire displays
His harden'd impudence and thy disgrace?
Sings the Te Deums, the Processions gos,
And show'rs of Blessings lavishly bestows?
Sleeps't thou? o sensless of approaching fate!
Whilst dangers thus surround thy tottring state?
Whilst in dispute thy threaten'd Miter stands,
The likely Spoil of bold usurping hands?
Up from this lazy bed, that holds thee now,
Bid Sleep, or els thy Bishoprick adieu:
She spoke; and from her cursed mouth a blast
Sent with her words infects his tainted brest;
Hate, Strife, and malice strait take up the place,
And peace with all its gentler forms deface:
The Dean awakes, rais'd by the dismal noise,
And with a look agast, and trembling voice,
His blessing on the parting Fiend bestows:
As a fierce Bull, whom some ambitious Breeze
Dares sting, and with his life the glorie buys,
The haughty Beast with rage the wound resents,
And his high passion in loud bellow'ings vents;
The Prelat so, rising from's frightful dream,
Dos to his men his mighty grief proclaim,
With dauntless courage he resolves to meet
The full-charg'd Quire, and stem th' attacks of Fate,
Dinner it self, nor all its charms can make
From that resolve his firm intentions shake:
In vain his Almoner, wise Gilotin
Disswades with grave advice the rash design,
Shews him the danger, how 'tis allmost noon,
How dinner must be spoil'd, if it go on:
What rage, says he, what unheard frenzy now
Makes you from dinner to dull service go?
You, whom the Fates for noble ease ordain,
Should better your great character maintain:
Leave this to meaner vassals of the trade;
Was it to pray that you were Prelat made?
At lest why now? why this untimely zeal,
When weightier matters your devotion call?
When reeking dainties your attendance wait,
With all that may the eye, or palat treat?
Is this a time for fasting? is it Lent,
Ember, or Vigil to be abstinent?
No, no, be wise, all present feuds forego,
Your rage dos now deserve a nobler Fo:
Nor let this prudent maxim be forgot,
" Dinner twice heated is not worth a groat:
This said; he with a quick dispatchful care
Makes the Potage upon the board appear:
The Dean with holy reverence at the sight
Stands mute awhile, and lost in rapture quite:
This staggers all his late resolves at last;
Tis now decreed to stay till dinner's past;
Dull ceremony bar'd, he falls to eat,
Hast and his passion make him grace forget:
With such fierce rage the morsels down he throws,
As if he with his meat devour'd his Fos:
Thick crowding bits, by his tir'd jaws unbroke,
Are swallow'd, and allmost the passage choke:
The faithful Gilotin, who still dos bear
In all his just concerns a loyal share,
Flies thence amaz'd, and wing'd with fear and speed,
Thro' his whole party dos the terrour spread:
Quick as th' alarm the troops together fly,
Resolv'd to vanquish in his cause or dy:
So march'd of old upon the Thracian plains
The dreadful Squadrons of embattel'd Cranes,
When by their Chief the warlike Pygmies led,
Durst Hebre's banks their native realm invade:
The Dean, to see the wisht assembly met,
Takes heart, and rising dos their entrance greet;
His looks no more their former fury wear,
But recompos'd put on a gentler air;
The Gammon, such high Friends to entertain,
Tho' late remov'd, is now recall'd again:
Himself the first, the company to grace,
With brisk Pontack fills up a top-full glass;
He drinks it off, and all in order strait
Their Leader's great example imitate:
Another round succeeds, and out of hand
They find the large capacious vessel drain'd:
Soon as wine's generous heat their heads has warm'd,
Enflam'd their Spirits, and their courage arm'd;
The cloth's remov'd, and every man intent,
With eys and ears are on the Prelat bent;
Who to the wondring audience with a voice
And looks, that well befit his present woes,
Dos in these terms his mighty grief disclose:
Ye great Associates of my toils and cares,
Of which each feels, and each a burthen shares;
You, by whose aid and friendship long sustain'd,
I ore a factious Chapter conquest gain'd,
And settled now in my establisht throne,
Am rais'd to sing Magnificat alone:
Will you ere let an haughty fool depose
Him, whom your high and open suffrage chose?
How long will you the Chanter's yoke endure?
How long submit your trampled necks and pow'r?
Shall he usurp my rights? shall he give laws,
And the great charter of your Desk dispose?
This very morning (tis no idle dream;
A God in sleep to me reveal'd the same)
He durst, bold man, in Quire my Blessings give,
He durst invade my great prerogative:
Thus his the fruits of all my pains he makes,
And my own arms to work my ruin takes:
Did I ere think? — and more he would exprest,
But left his looks and sighs to say the rest:
In vain he would th' unfinisht speech pursue,
Vast floods of tears his gushing eys oreflow:
Still, as he'd try, grief spoils the weak efforts,
And crowding sobs rise up, and choke his words:
Kind Gilotin, with whom this most had wrought,
For cure has the restoring bottle brought:
When Sidrac, who by weight of years opprest,
That stay'd, and made him slower than the rest,
Arrives at last with reverend cane in hand,
And out of breath at th' entrance makes a stand:
This hoary Nestor had four ages bin
O'th' Quire, and all their different customs seen,
Whom high deserts from bare Churchwarden's place
Did by degrees to Vestry-keeper raise:
He to the Prelat cast in dolefull trance,
The cause conjectur'd, makes his slow advance:
Thrice does he cough, thrice stroke his formal beard,
And in grave words thus to advise is heard:
Leave, worthy Dean, says he, vain tears and sighs,
Be they the lot of thy false enemies:
To save thy rights and empire only hear
What now propitious Heav'n does me inspire:
Within the Quire, where, at thy left hand set,
The Chanter dos display his pride and state,
Upon that frame of boards, we there behold,
Which books and leaning elbows dos uphold,
Stood heretofore (I well remember yet)
A large-built Desk of huger bulk and rate,
Whose vast extent, rais'd with prodigious height,
The place around orelook'd and shadow'd quite:
Behind its eaves, as some concealing Skreen,
The Chanter hid, was by the Quire unseen;
While on the other side the Dean in view
All the regards of the whole Chappell drew:
But some ill Genius, urg'd with fatal Spite
To th' holy Desk, to work its fate thought fit,
(Whether in night contriv'd by wicked hand
Or from all age by Destiny ordain'd)
One morning down it fell in pieces quite,
These very eys beheld the dismal sight:
I, who with Heav'n espous'd the Chanters side,
The ruins to the Vestry had convey'd,
Where thirty years lain buried and forgot
'Mongst dust and worms it dos inglorious rot:
Now this I counsel: When returning night
With its black veil drawn ore shuts out the light,
Three of us, whom the Fates by lot shall bid,
Silent, and by its fav'ring darkness hid,
Shall to the Vestry undescry'd repair,
And searching out the Desk with heedful care,
Shall reunite the loose ill-jointed mass,
And see't remov'd and fixt i'th' ancient place:
Which if next day the Chanter dare subvert,
What more can strengthen and make good thy part?
Expos'd to all attacks of thy just rage he lies,
A thousand dreadful Writs and Processes:
Rather then lose thy rights, which Heav'n maintains,
Let all be ruin'd; 'tis the Churche's Sence:
By these braue ways a Prelat should make known
His gallantry, his conduct and renown:
Let not your glories and your high-born mind
Be to a narrow Quire and Pray'rs confin'd;
In Aleth this may pass, where easy fools
Move by Religion and dull vertue's rules;
Pourges and we, who boast a nobler name,
From such poor ties a free exemption claim:
And while these troubles shall thy pow'r enhance,
Thou may'st thy Blessings uncontroul'd dispence;
Nay, to outbrave the Chanter and his pride,
Do't in his sight, and bless himself beside.
Well this discours dos the whole audience move,
Who its great authour justly all approve,
But most the ravisht Dean, whose grateful zeal
In loud applause dos his high transport tell:
'Tis mov'd that strait thro' all the troop be chose
The three, to whom the Fates shall give their voice;
But all contend alike with rival strife,
Each in the service vows to stake his life:
Leave, says the Dean, this generous contest leave;
The lot alone must the decision give;
To end this feud we cuts resolve to draw,
Be chance our guide, and Destiny our law:
He says; they all obey; each would be first,
And pressing elbows writing elbows thrust:
Soon thirty names appear in paper writ,
Some by their marks and some by proxy set:
In equal pieces these with justness cut
After due shuffling in a cap are put;
For drawing which with more unbiast hand,
A Quirister is to the work ordain'd,
Young Guillaume, whom all marks of candour grace.
Whose blushes artless modesty confess:
Mean while the Dean dos all just reverence shew
Which to that great solemnity is due;
With head uncover'd, lifted hands and eys,
Thrice dos he bless the names, and shakes 'em thrice:
He turns the cap: The stripling draws: and strait
Brontin appears, the first mark'd out by Fate:
At this the Dean happy success dos bode
And joyful murmurs run thro' all the crowd:
All's husht: and now the name, the glorious name
Of great La Tour the Clock-keeper dos claim
Next place in the high enterprise of fame:
This young Adonis, small of size and height,
Of Anne his consort is the sole delight:
Kindled with mutual flames this charming pair
Are both each others happiness and care:
And they were both (if not by fame belied)
Ere wedlock long in chast embraces tied;
But three years since, that tie faster to bind,
Th' Official had the knot of marriage join'd:
This sturdy Brave of cudgelling renown
In Wakes dire rights has his high valour shewn;
In his fierce looks and haughty port and meen,
A warlike air and face of action's seen:
One name is left to come, once more the Dean
Shuffles the pack and shakes 'em well again:
Each thinks his name will prove the last oth' three;
But what strange joys and transports ravish thee,
O mighty Sexton, brave Boirude, when thou,
Support o'th' Cross and of thy Master too,
Seest to the Dean thy name appear in view?
Tis said, thy tallow face and tawny brows
Did at the time their ancient paleness lose,
Thy lubber carcase too, crippled before
With age and gout, now warm'd with martial pow'r,
With active bounds cut capers on the floor:
All bless the ruling Fate of human things,
Which their just cause to such good hands resigns:
With this th' assembly rise, and out of doors
All in disorder shape their hasty course:
The Dean alone, with rage a while appeas'd,
Till supper lulls himself and cares to rest.