 | The Works of Thomas Love Peacock |  |
256
Fytte the Second
The devil gave the rabble scope
And they left him not in the lurch:
But they went beyond the summoner's hope;
For they quickly got tired of bawling “No Pope!”
And bellowed, “No State Church!”
And they left him not in the lurch:
But they went beyond the summoner's hope;
For they quickly got tired of bawling “No Pope!”
And bellowed, “No State Church!”
“Ho!” quoth Little John, “this must not be:
The devil leads all amiss:
He works for himself, and not for me:
And straightway back I'll bid him flee
To the bottomless abyss.”
The devil leads all amiss:
He works for himself, and not for me:
And straightway back I'll bid him flee
To the bottomless abyss.”
Again he took down his book from the wall,
And pondered words of might:
He muttered a speech, and he scribbled a scrawl:
But the only answer to his call
Was a glimpse, at the uttermost end of the hall,
Of the devil taking a sight.
And pondered words of might:
He muttered a speech, and he scribbled a scrawl:
But the only answer to his call
Was a glimpse, at the uttermost end of the hall,
Of the devil taking a sight.
And louder and louder grew the clang
As the rabble raged without:
The door was beaten with many a bang;
And the vaulted roof re-echoing rang
To the tumult and the shout.
As the rabble raged without:
The door was beaten with many a bang;
And the vaulted roof re-echoing rang
To the tumult and the shout.
The fiendish shade, on the wall portrayed,
Threw somersaults fast and free,
And flourished his tail like a brandished flail,
As busy as if it were blowing a gale,
And his task were on the sea.
Threw somersaults fast and free,
And flourished his tail like a brandished flail,
As busy as if it were blowing a gale,
And his task were on the sea.
257
And up he toss't his huge pitchfork,
As visioned shrines uprose;
And right and left he went to work,
Till full over Durham, and Oxford, and York,
He stood with a menacing pose.
As visioned shrines uprose;
And right and left he went to work,
Till full over Durham, and Oxford, and York,
He stood with a menacing pose.
The rabble roar was hushed awhile,
As the hurricane rests in its sweep;
And all throughout the ample pile
Reigned silence dread and deep.
As the hurricane rests in its sweep;
And all throughout the ample pile
Reigned silence dread and deep.
Then a thrilling voice cried: “Little John,
A little spell will do,
When there is mischief to be done,
To raise me up and set me on;
For I, of my own free will, am won
To carry such spiritings through.
A little spell will do,
When there is mischief to be done,
To raise me up and set me on;
For I, of my own free will, am won
To carry such spiritings through.
“But when I am riding the tempest's wing,
And towers and spires have blazed,
'Tis no small conjuror's art to sing,
Or say, a spell to check the swing
Of the demons he has raised.”
And towers and spires have blazed,
'Tis no small conjuror's art to sing,
Or say, a spell to check the swing
Of the demons he has raised.”
| The Works of Thomas Love Peacock | |