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/84

 Asham'd and Angry at their late Defeat, They light their Taper and their Task repeat: The Noisy Enemy flies off unhurt, And what was late their Terror is their Sport. And now the Desk the Chanter's Pew ascends, A Shout the Chapel's lofty Arches rends: The wormy Boards, by Times corroding Spight Disjoin'd, the lusty Mallet's Blows unite: With their Continu'd Strokes the Pews resound; The Vaults rebellow'd, and the Organ groan'd.

Ah Chanter, buried in profound Repose, Little thy Heart the brooding Mischief knows; But undisturb'd by Grief or anxious Fear, Dreams not what angry Fate is doing here! If in a Vision yet some Pow'r Divine Shou'd to thy Sense reveal the dread Design, E'er