At last Bishop Hatto appointed a day
To quiet the poor without delay;

He bade them to his great Barn repair,

And they should have food for the winter there.

Rejoiced such tidings good to hear,

The poor folk flock'd from far and near;
The great Barn was full as it could hold
Of women and children, and young and old.

Then when he saw it could hold no more,
Bishop Hatto he made fast the door ;
And while for mercy on Christ they call,
He set fire to the Barn and burnt them all.

"I'faith 't is an excellent bonfire!" quoth he,
"And the country is greatly obliged to me,
For ridding it in these times forlorn
Of Rats that only consume the corn."

So then to his palace returned he,
And he sat down to supper merrily,

And he slept that night like an innocent man;
But Bishop Hatto never slept again.

In the morning as he enter'd the hall
Where his picture hung against the wall,
A sweat like death all over him came,
For the Rats had eaten it out of the frame.

As he look'd there came a man from his farm, He had a countenance white with alarm;

'My Lord, I open'd your granaries this morn, And the Rats had eaten all your corn."

Another came running presently,

And he was pale as pale could be,
"Fly! my Lord Bishop, fly," quoth he,
"Ten thousand Rats are coming this way,.
The Lord forgive you for yesterday!"

"I'll go to my tower on the Rhine,” replied he, "'Tis the safest place in Germany;

The walls are high and the shores are steep, And the stream is strong and the water deep."

Bishop Hatto fearfully hasten'd away,
And he crost the Rhine without delay,
And reach'd his tower, and barr'd with care
All the windows, doors, and loop-holes there.

He laid him down and closed his eyes;..
But soon a scream made him arise,

He started and saw two eyes of flame

On his pillow from whence the screaming came.

He listen'd and look'd; . . . it was only the Cat;

...

But the Bishop he grew more fearful for that, For she sat screaming, mad with fear

At the Army of Rats that were drawing near.

For they have swam over the river so deep,
And they have climb'd the shores so steep,
And up the Tower their way is bent,

To do the work for which they were sent.

They are not to be told by the dozen or score,
By thousands they come, and by myriads and more,
Such numbers had never been heard of before,
Such a judgement had never been witness'd of yore.

Down on his knees the Bishop fell,

And faster and faster his beads did he tell,

As louder and louder drawing near

The gnawing of their teeth he could hear.

And in at the windows and in at the door,
And through the walls helter-skelter they pour,
And down from the ceiling and up through the floor,
From the right and the left, from behind and before,
From within and without, from above and below,
And all at once to the Bishop they go.

They have whetted their teeth against the stones,
And now they pick the Bishop's bones;

They gnaw'd the flesh from every limb,
For they were sent to do judgement on him!

Westbury, 1799.

THE PIOUS PAINTER.

The legend of the Pious Painter is related in the Pia Hilaria of Gazæus; but the Pious Poet has omitted the second part of the story, though it rests upon quite as good authority as the first. It is to be found in the Fabliaux of Le Grand.

THE FIRST PART.

1.

THERE once was a painter in Catholic days,
Like JOB who eschewed all evil;

Still on his Madonnas the curious may gaze
With applause and with pleasure, but chiefly his praise
And delight was in painting the Devil.

2.

They were Angels, compared to the Devils he drew,
Who besieged poor St. Anthony's cell;
Such burning hot eyes, such a furnace-like hue!
And round them a sulphurous colouring he threw
That their breath seem'd of brimstone to smell.

3.

And now had the artist a picture begun,

'T was over the Virgin's church-door;
She stood on the Dragon embracing her Son;
Many Devils already the artist had done,
But this must out-do all before.

4.

The Old Dragon's imps as they fled through the air, At seeing it paused on the wing;

For he had the likeness so just to a hair,

That they came as Apollyon himself had been there, To pay their respects to their King.

5.

Every child at beholding it trembled with dread, And scream'd as he turn'd away quick.

Not an old woman saw it, but, raising her head, Dropt a bead, made a cross on her wrinkles, and said, Lord keep me from ugly Old Nick !

6.

What the Painter so earnestly thought on by day,
He sometimes would dream of by night;
But once he was startled as sleeping he lay ;
'T was no fancy, no dream, he could plainly survey
That the Devil himself was in sight.