N ancient times, as ftory tells,
The faints wou'd often leave their cells, And ftrole about, but hide their quality, To try good people's hospitality.
It happen'd on a winter night, As authors of the legend write, Two brother hermits, faints by trade, Taking their tour in masquerade, Difguis'd in tatter'd habits, went To a small village down in Kent; Where, in the stroller's canting ftrain, They begg'd from door to door in vain, Try'd ev'ry tone might pity win; But not a foul would let them in. Our wand'ring faints in woful ftate, Treated at this ungodly rate, Having through all the village pafs'd, To a small cottage came at laft; Where dwelt a good old honeft ye'man, Call'd in the neighbourhood Philemon Who kindly did these saints invite In his poor hut to pass the night;
And then the hospitable fire
Bid goody Baucis mend the fire;
While he from out the chimney took
A flitch of bacon off the hook,
And freely from the fatteft fide
Cut out large flices to be fry'd;
Then stepp'd afide to fetch 'em drink,
Fill'd a large jug up to the brink,
And faw it fairly twice go round;
Yet (what is wonderful!) they found,
'Twas ftill replenish'd to the top,
As if they had not touch'd a drop.
The good old couple were amaz'd,
And often on each other gaz'd;
For both were frighten'd to the heart,
And just began to cry,--- What ar't l
Then foftly turn'd afide to view
Whether the lights were burning blue.
The gentle pilgrims, foon aware on't,
Told them their calling, and their errant ;
Good folks, you need not be afraid,
We are but faints, the hermits faid;
No hurt fhall come to you or yours:
But for that pack of churlish boors,
Not fit to live on chriftian ground,
They and their houses fhall be drown'd;
Whilft you shall see your cottage rise,
And grow a church before your eyes.
They scarce had spoke; when fair and foft
The roof began to mount aloft;
Aloft rose ev'ry beam and rafter;
The heavy wall climb'd flowly after.
The chimney widen'd, and grew higher,
Eecame a steeple with a spire.
The kettle to the top was hoift,
And there ftood fasten'd to a joift,
But with the upfide down, to fhow
Its inclination for below:
In vain; for a superior force
Apply'd at bottom ftops its courfe:
Doom'd ever in fufpence to dwell,
'Tis now no kettle, but a bell.
A wooden jack, which had almost
Loft by difufe the art to roast,
A fudden alteration feels,
Increas'd by new intestine wheels ;
And, what exalts the wonder more,
The number made the motion flow'r.
The flyer, though't had leaden feet,
Turn'd round fo quick, you scarce could
fee't;
But, flacken'd by fome fecret pow'r,
Now hardly moves an inch an hour,
The jack and chimney, near ally'd,
Had never left each other's fide:
The chimney to a steeple, grown,
The jack wou'd not be left alone;
But, up against the steeple rear'd,
Became a clock, and ftill adher'd;
And ftill its love to houfhold cares
By a fhrill voice at noon declares,
Warning the cook-maid not to burn
That roaft-meat, which it cannot turn.
The groaning-chair began to crawl,
Like a huge fnail, along the wall;
There stuck aloft in publick view,
And, with small change, a pulpit grew.
The porringers, that in a row
Hung high, and made a glittʼring show,
To a lefs noble fubftance chang'd,
Were now but leathern buckets rang'd.
The ballads pafted on the wall,
Of Joan of France, and English Moll,
Fair Rofamond, and Robin Hood,
The Little Children in the Wood,
Now feem'd to look abundance better,
Improv'd in picture, fize, and letter;
And, high in order plac'd, defcribe
The * heraldry of ev'ry tribe.
* Of the twelve tribes of Ifrael, which in country churches are fametimes diftinguished by the
enfigns appropraited to them by Jacob on his death-bed.
A bedstead of the antique mode,
Compact of timber many a load,
Such as our ancestors did ufe,
Was metamorphos'd into pews;
Which still their ancient nature keep
By lodging folks difpos'd to fleep.
The cottage by fuch feats as these Grown to a church by juft degrees, The hermits then defir'd their hoft To ask for what he fancy'd moft. Philemon, having paus'd a while, Return'd 'em thanks in homely ftyle; Then faid, my houfe is grown fo fine, Methinks, I ftill wou'd call it mine: I'm old, and fain wou'd live at ease Make me the parfon, if you please. He fpoke; and presently he feels His grazier's coat fall down his heels; He fees, yet hardly can believe, About each arm a pudding-fleeve ; His waistcoat to a caffock grew, And both affum'd a fable hue; But, being old, continu'd just As thread-bare, and as full of duft. His talk was now of tythes and dues : He fmok'd his pipe, and read the news ; Knew how to preach old fermons next, Vamp'd in the preface and the text ;
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