University of Virginia Library

To make new Converts truly blest,
A Recipe—Probatum est.—

Stern Winter clad in frost and snow,
Had now forbad the streams to flow,
And skaited peasants swiftly glide
Like swallows, o'er the slippery tide;
When Mordecai (upon whose face
The Synagogue you plain might trace)
Fortune with smiles deceitful bore
To a curst hole, but late skinn'd o'er,
Down plumps the Jew, but in a trico
Rising, he caught the unbroke ice;
He gasp'd—he yell'd a hideous cry,
No friendly hand, alas, was nigh,
Save a poor Monk, who quickly ran
To snatch from Death the drowning Man;
But when the holy Father saw
A limb of the Mosaic law,
His hand outstretch'd he quick withdrew,
“For Heav'n's sake help”—exclaims the Jew;
“Turn Christian first,” the Father cries,
“I'm froze to death”—the Jew replies;
“Froze! quo' the Monk—too soon you'll know
“There's Fire enough for Jews below;
“Renounce your unbelieving Crew,
“And help is near”—“I do—I do:”
“Damn all your Brethren Great and Small,”
“With all my heart—Oh, damn 'em all:
“Now help me out”—“There's something more,
“Salute this Cross, and Christ adore;”
“There, there—I Christ adore.”—“'Tis well,
“Thus arm'd, defiance bid to Hell;
“And yet—another thing remains
“To guard against eternal pains;
“Do you our Papal Father hold
“Heav'n's Vicar?—And believe all told
“By Holy Church?”—I do by G*d,
“One moment more I'm food for Cod;—
“Drag, drag me out—I freeze—I die,”
“Your peace, my Friend, is made on High;
“Full Absolution here I give;
“Saint Peter will your Soul receive:—
“Wash'd clean from sin, and duly shriven,
“New Converts always go to Heaven;
“No hour for death so fit as this;
“Thus—thus—I launch you into bliss:”

So said—the Father in a trice
His Convert launch'd beneath the ice.