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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=455714" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Confessor, a Sanctified Tale</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">When SUPERSTITION rul'd the land<br>And Priestcraft shackled Reason,<br>At GODSTOW dwelt a goodly band,<br>Grey monks they were, and but to say<br>They were not always giv'n to pray,<br>Would have been construed Treason.<br>Yet some did scoff, and some believ'd<br>That sinners were themselves deceiv'd;<br>And taking Monks for more than men<br>They prov'd themselves, nine out of ten,<br>Mere dupes of these Old Fathers hoary;<br>But read--and mark the story.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Near, in a little Farm, there liv'd<br>A buxom Dame of twenty three;<br>And by the neighbours 'twas believ'd<br>A very Saint was She!<br>Yet, ev'ry week, for some transgression,<br>She went to sigh devout confession.<br>For ev'ry trifle seem'd to make<br>Her self-reproving Conscience ache;<br>And Conscience, waken'd, 'tis well known,<br>Will never let the Soul alone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At GODSTOW, 'mid the holy band,<br>Old FATHER PETER held command.<br>And lusty was the pious man,<br>As any of his crafty clan:<br>And rosy was his cheek, and sly<br>The wand'rings of his keen grey eye;<br>Yet all the Farmers wives confest<br>The wond'rous pow'r this Monk possess'd;<br>Pow'r to rub out the score of sin,<br>Which SATAN chalk'd upon his Tally;<br>To give fresh licence to begin,--<br>And for new scenes of frolic, rally.<br>For abstinence was not his way--<br>He lov'd to live --as well as pray ;<br>To prove his gratitude to Heav'n<br>By taking freely all its favors,--<br>And keeping his account still even,<br>Still mark'd his best endeavours:<br>That is to say, He took pure Ore<br>For benedictions,--and was known,<br>While Reason op'd her golden store,--<br>Not to unlock his own.--<br>And often to his cell went he<br>With the gay Dame of twenty-three:<br>His Cell was sacred, and the fair<br>Well knew, that none could enter there,<br>Who, (such was PETER'S sage decree,)<br>To Paradise ne'er bought a key.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It happen'd that this Farmer's wife<br>(Call MISTRESS TWYFORD--alias BRIDGET,)<br>Led her poor spouse a weary life--<br>Keeping him, in an endless fidget!<br>Yet ev'ry week she sought the cell<br>Where Holy FATHER PETER stay'd,<br>And there did ev'ry secret tell,--<br>And there, at Sun-rise, knelt and pray'd.<br>For near, there liv'd a civil friend,<br>Than FARMER TWYFORD somewhat stouter,<br>And he would oft his counsel lend,<br>And pass the wintry hours away<br>In harmless play;<br>But MISTRESS BRIDGET was so chaste,<br>So much with pious manners grac'd,<br>That none could doubt her!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">One night, or rather morn, 'tis said<br>The wily neighbour chose to roam,<br>And (FARMER TWYFORD far from home),<br>He thought he might supply his place;<br>And, void of ev'ry spark of grace,<br>Upon HIS pillow, rest his head.<br>The night was cold, and FATHER PETER,<br>Sent his young neighbour to entreat her,<br>That she would make confession free--<br>To Him,--his saintly deputy.<br>Now, so it happen'd, to annoy<br>The merry pair, a little boy<br>The only Son of lovely Bridget,<br>And, like his daddy , giv'n to fidget,<br>Enquir'd who this same neighbour was<br>That took the place his father left--<br>A most unworthy, shameless theft,--<br>A sacrilege on marriage laws!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The dame was somewhat disconcerted--<br>For, all that she could say or do,--<br>The boy his question would renew,<br>Nor from his purpose be diverted.<br>At length, the matter to decide,<br>&quot;'Tis FATHER PETER&quot; she replied.<br>&quot;He's come to pray.&quot; The child gave o'er,<br>When a loud thumping at the door<br>Proclaim'd the Husband coming! Lo!<br>Where could the wily neighbour go?<br>Where hide his recreant, guilty head--<br>But underneath the Farmer's bed?--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">NOW MASTER TWYFORD kiss'd his child;<br>And straight the cunning urchin smil'd :<br>&quot;Hush father ! hush ! 'tis break of day--<br>&quot;And FATHER PETER'S come to pray!<br>&quot;You must not speak,&quot; the infant cries--<br>&quot;For underneath the bed he lies.&quot;<br>Now MISTRESS TWYFORD shriek'd, and fainted,<br>And the sly neighbour found, too late,<br>The FARMER, than his wife less sainted,<br>For with his cudgel he repaid--<br>The kindness of his faithless mate,<br>And fiercely on his blows he laid,<br>'Till her young lover, vanquish'd, swore<br>He'd play THE CONFESSOR no more !</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tho' fraud is ever sure to find<br>Its scorpion in the guilty mind:<br>Yet, PIOUS FRAUD, the DEVIL'S treasure,<br>Is always paid, in TENFOLD MEASURE.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Mary+Darby+Robinson">Mary Darby Robinson</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=455714" data-title="The Confessor, a Sanctified Tale de Mary Darby Robinson" data-description="When SUPERSTITION rul'd the land
And Priestcraft shackled Reason,
At GODSTOW dwelt a goodly band,
Grey monks they were, and but to say
They were not always giv'n to pray,
Would have been construed Treason.
Yet some did scoff, and some believ'd
Tha..."></div>
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