"There's the two Miss Crockfords are single still, For whom great suitors hunger; And their Father's hell is much larger than mine"-- Quoth the Devil, "I've no such ambitious design, For their Dad is an old Fishmonger; XIX "And I cannot endure the smell of fish-- I have taken an anti-bias To their livers, especially since the day That the Angel smoked my cousin away From the chaste spouse of Tobias. XX "Had my amorous kinsman much longer staid, The perfume would have seal'd his obit; For he had a nicer nose than the wench, Who cared not a pin for the smother and stench, In the arms of the Son of Tobit." XXI "I have read it," quoth she, "in Apocryphal Writ"-- And the Devil stoop'd down, and kiss'd her; Not Jove himself, when he courted in flame, On Semele's lips, the love-scorch'd Dame, Impress'd such a burning blister. XXII The fire through her bones and her vitals shot-- "O, I yield, my winsome marrow-- I am thine for life"--and black thunders roll'd-- And she sank in his arms through the garden mould, With the speed of a red-hot arrow. XXIII Merrily, merrily, ring the bells From each Pandemonian steeple; For the Devil hath gotten his beautiful Bride, And a Wedding Dinner he will provide, To feast all kinds of people. XXIV Fat bulls of Basan are roasted whole, Of the breed that ran at David; With the flesh of goats, on the sinister side, That shall stand apart, when the world is tried; Fit meat for souls unsaved! XXV The fowl from the spit were the Harpies' brood, Which the bard sang near Cremona, With a garnish of bats in their leathern wings imp't; And the fish was--two delicate slices crimp't, Of the whale that swallow'd Jonah. XXVI Then the goblets were crown'd, and a health went round To the Bride, in a wine like scarlet; No earthly vintage so deeply paints, For 'twas dash'd with a tinge from the blood of the Saints By the Babylonian Harlot. XXVII No Hebe fair stood Cup Bearer there, The guests were their own skinkers; But Bishop Judas first blest the can, Who is of all Hell Metropolitan, And kiss'd it to all the drinkers. XXVIII