Page:Boileau's Lutrin - a mock-heroic poem. In six canto's. Render'd into English verse. To which is prefix'd some account of Boileau's writings, and this translation. (IA boileauslutrinmo00boil).pdf/77

 The Vestry now is feen; each pallid Face Owns the tenebrous Horror of the Place. There lies the Desk, dread Work of wayward Fate; A while they stand its Form to contemplate: 'Till rousing 'em, aloud the Barber cries, This Spectacle is not t'amuse our Eyes: Weare not here conven'd, my Friends, to stare; Time will not stay; the Moments precious are: Into the middle Isle convey the Mass, And fix it on the haughty Chanter's Place. To morrow a plump Prelate's gloating Eyes Shall view the Triumph with uncommon Joys.

Then with an Arm tremendous bravely strove From its old Post the dusty Lump to move. When Oh Distraction! a dread Voice aloud, Was heard to Issue from the hollow Wood; Brontin