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But the Monk's-hood scowl'd dark, and in utterance low, Declared "'t was high time for good Christians to go;" He 'd heard from the pulpit a sermon sublime, Where 't was proved from the Vulgate—"To dance was a crime." So, wrapping a cowl round his cynical head, He snatch'd from the side-board a bumper, and fled.

A song was desired, but each musical flower Had—"taken a cold, and 't was out of her power;" 'Till sufficiently urged, they burst forth in a strain Of quavers and trills, that astonished the train. Mimosa sat shrinking, and said, with a sigh, "'Twas so fine, she was ready with rapture, to die;" And Cactus, the grammar-school tutor, declared "It might be with the gamut of Orpheus compared." But Night-shade, the metaphysician, complained That "the nerves of his ears were excessively pained;