The Church-scuffle; or, the Noble Labours of the Great Dean of Notre-dame in Paris, for the Erecting in His…

Now do the cocks begin their morning brawl, And drowsy Chanters to their mattins 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 reach'd his Master first, An humble Valet, but a Verger curst. He kept the Choir on the sinister side, He crouch'd at home, but there he shew'd his pride. Mean were his common customers for pews, So in their humble bows he took his dues. 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 surprizing fear. When sleep had twice upon my eyes bestow'd Of drowsy poppies a fresh-gather'd load; I dreamt I fill'd 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, Souz'd on my Bench, and swallow'd all my pride."

Then rage tongue-ty'd him; Gerot, laughing loud, Said, "Dreams were fumes from ill-concocted food; Cooks with ill sauce could every night bestow On childish fancies such a puppet-show."

The sour old man could ne'er with mirth agree, But now abhorr'd his ill-tim'd raillery: Forbad 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 offer'd grace he will not slight; He rush'd into his gown, and surplice white. But, above all, he will not leave behind, His spacious scarlet hood, with tabby lin'd: His haughty heart would break, if he should lack That proof of learning, to adorn his back. With his best bonnet then he grac'd his brow, Sole mark of learning his white head could shew, His purple gloves he never fail'd 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 Push'd on, and earliest in the Choir appears. But, oh! what spite and fury fir'd 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 Chantings 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 them 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 shew, Strengthen yourself, and terrify the foe. " Right," said the Chanter; "go, by noise or force. The sleeping Canons from their beds 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. Starv'd Monks a larum 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 mir'd in fat?"

" Deceitful cowards, th' old testy man reply'd, You fain your terror of the Dean would hide: A hundred times I've seen you croüching stand With servile necks, beneath his blessing hand. The work, good Gerot, shall by us be done, Our friends for once shall shame the loitering sun."

Cunning old Gerot knew the Canons well, Spar'd his worn lungs, rung the great master-bell; Which, like the heavy Dean, but serv'd for state, And almost broke the Church with needless weight. Th' unchrist'ned bell, with sacrilegious roar, From his strong camp the God of slumbers tore; Broke open all the holy Canons eyes, And made the Devil of noise and tumult rise. Some believ'd thunder broke into the room, Others half fear'd it was the day of doom. Some Priests, less scar'd, thought 'twas a dying knell; Some keenly hungry hop'd 'twas Pancake-bell. The sound with different sense fill'd every head, Like a dark text, wondrous confusion bred. So when, to batter down a hundred walls, The thund'ring Lewis leaves the fair Versailles To the young Spring, not valuing her delights, And with spread banners all the world affrights; Danow to th' Euxine hastes his march to shun, Swift Rhine in great commotion hurries-on, Brussels for bursting 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 duck'd 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, all arise: In expectations of divine delights, All look their cloaths, but none their appetites, For they were ready, ere their gowns were on: Headlong undrest 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 a painful abstinence abhorr'd, And bad the Verger cover strait the board. To that once savoury motion no man spoke, At length learn'd Allen the deep silence broke. He only, of all the Priests our Church obey'd, Had not his Latin smother'd and o'erlaid. Others by wealth to dulness did advance, And with the Church's coin brought ignorance. But he had wander'd from that practis'd rule, And was as learn'd 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 stabb'd 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 scorn'd his head to hide, And sturdy shocks of Latin durst abide. Most learnedly equipp'd, th' accomplish'd man, Having first cough'd, his wise harangue began:

" Some Huguenots, our curst eternal foes, Planted this here, to batter our repose. In some Church History they 've read, I fear, Canons once preach'd, 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 shew ourselves as deeply learn'd as they. About this Pulpit then let 's quickly found All learned men in these great things profound."

Th' unlook'd-for counsel all th' assembly scar'd, But made an earthquake in fat Everard; Who shaking with astonishment and rage, " How I, said he, turn school-boy 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 of my way. So let's prepare for the renown'd design, And, when accomplish'd, plentifully dine."

No sooner the word Dinner pass'd their ears, Than up their stomachs rose, down fell their fears, But then the Chanter, none more bold and great, Exclaim'd, "This Tub too long has made us sweat. Do Deans fear dust? must they be cas'd like clocks? Would they like sentries awe us from a box? In our Church-pillar is some rottenness spread: To hide himself, he would be wainscoted. My vengeance on this soppery I'll throw; And an hour's 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 inspir'd, 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 bent; The Champions vanquish'd all resistance round, The batter'd 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 rail'd 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!