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by [?]

IN Eastern climes, by means considered new;
The Mount’s old-man, with terrors would pursue;
His large domains howe’er were not the cause,
Nor heaps of gold, that gave him such applause,
But manners strange his subjects to persuade;
In ev’ry wish, to serve him they were made.
Among his people boldest hearts he chose,
And to their view would Paradise disclose
Its blissful pleasures:–ev’ry soft delight,
Designed to gratify the sense and sight.
So plausible this prophet’s tale appeared,
Each word he dropt was thoroughly revered.
Whence this delusion?–DRINK deranged the mind;
And, reason drowned, to madness they resigned.
Thus void of knowing clearly what they did,
They soon were brought to act as they were bid;
Conveyed to places, charming to the eye,
Enchanting gardens ‘neath an azure sky,
With twining shrubs, meandring walks, and flow’rs,
And num’rous grottos, porticoes and bow’rs.
When they chanced to pass where all was gay,
From wine’s inebriating pow’rful sway,
They wondered at the frolicking around,
And fancied they were got on fairy ground,
Which Mahomet pretended was assigned,
For those to his doctrine were inclined.
To tempt the men and girls to seek the scene,
And skip and play and dance upon the green,
To murm’ring streams, meandering along,
And lutes’ soft notes and nightingales’ sweet song:
No earthly pleasure but might there be viewed,
The best of wines and choicest fruits accrued,
To render sense bewildered at the sight,
And sink inebriated with delight.

THEN back they bore them motionless to sleep,
And wake with wishes further joys to reap.
From these enjoyments many fully thought,
To such enchanting scenes they should be brought,
In future times, eternal bliss to taste,
If death and danger valiantly they faced,
And tried the prophet Mahomet to please,
And ev’ry point to serve their prince would seize.

THE Mount’s old man, by means like these, could say;
He’d men devoted to support his sway;
Upon the globe no empire more was feared,
Or king or potentate like him revered.
These circumstances I’ve minutely told,
To show, our tale was known in days of old.

FERONDE, a rich, but awkward, vulgar clown,
A ninny was believed throughout the town;
He had the charge of revenues not slight,
Which he collected for a friar white.
Of these I’ve known as good as any black,
When husbands some assistance seemed to lack,
And had so much to do, they monks might need;
Or other friends, their work at home to speed.
This friar for to-morrow never thought,
But squandered ev’ry thing as soon as brought;
No saint-apostle less of wealth retained;
Good cheer o’er ev’ry wish triumphant reigned,
Save now and then to have a little fun,
(Unknown to others) with a pretty nun.

FERONDE had got a spouse of pleasing sight,
Related nearly to our friar white,
Whose predecessor, uncle, sponsor kind,
Now gone to realms of night, had her consigned,
To be this silly blockhead’s lawful wife,
Who thought her hand the honour of his life.
‘Tis said that bastard-daughters oft retain
A disposition to the parent-train;
And this, the saying, truly ne’er bellied,
Nor was her spouse so weak but he descried,
Things clearer than was requisite believed,
And doubted much if he were not deceived.

THE wife would often to the prelate go,
Pretending business, proper he should know;
A thousand circumstances she could find;
‘Twas then accounts: now sev’ral things combined;
In short no day nor hour within the week,
But something at the friar’s she would seek.
The holy father then was always prone,
To send the servants off and be alone.
Howe’er the husband, doubting tricks were played;
Got troublesome; his wife would much upbraid
When she returned, and often beat her too;
In short,–he unaccommodating grew.