This Peter the Saint had pick'd out from his fellows, To look to his fire, and to blow with the bellows, To put on the Wall's-Ends and Lambtons whenever he Chose to indulge in a little _orfevrerie_; --Of course you have read, That St. Dunstan was bred A Goldsmith, and never quite gave up the trade! The Company--richest in London, 'tis said-- Acknowledge him still as their Patron and Head; Nor is it so long Since a capital song In his praise--now recorded their archives among-- Delighted the noble and dignified throng Of their guests, who, the newspapers told the whole town, With cheers "pledged the wine-cup to Dunstan's renown," When Lord Lyndhurst, THE DUKE, and Sir Robert, were dining At the Hall some time since with the Prime Warden Twining.-- --I am sadly digressing--a fault which sometimes One can hardly avoid in these gossiping rhymes-- A slight deviation's forgiven! but then this is Too long, I fear, for a decent parenthesis, So I'll rein up my Pegasus sharp, and retreat, or You'll think I've forgotten the Lay-brother Peter, Whom the Saint, as I said, Kept to turn down his bed, Dress his palfreys and cobs, And do other odd jobs,-- As reducing to writing Whatever he might, in The course of the day or the night, be inditing, And cleaning the plate of his mitre with whiting; Performing, in short, all those duties and offices Abbots exact from Lay-brothers and Novices. It occurs to me here You'll perhaps think it queer That St. Dunstan should have such a personage near, When he'd only to say Those words,--be what they may,-- And his Broomstick at once his commands would obey.-- That's true--but the fact is 'Twas rarely his practice Such aid to resort to, or such means apply, Unless he'd some "dignified knot" to untie, Adopting, though sometimes, as now, he'd reverse it, Old Horace's maxim "_nec Broomstick intersit_."-- --Peter, the Lay-brother, meagre and thin, Heard all the Saint was saying within; Peter, the Lay-brother, sallow and spare, Peep'd through the key-hole, and--what saw he there?-- Why,--A BROOMSTICK BRINGING A RUSH-BOTTOM'D CHAIR. What Shakspeare observes, in his play of King John, Is undoubtedly right, That "ofttimes the sight Of means to do ill deeds will make ill deeds done." Here's Peter, the Lay-brother, pale-faced and meagre, A good sort of man, only rather too eager To listen to what other people are saying, When he ought to be minding his business or praying, Gets into a scrape,--and an awkward one too,-- As you'll find, if you've patience enough to go through The whole of the story I'm laying before ye,-- Entirely from having "the means" in his view Of doing a thing which he ought not to do!