The Confessor, A Sanctified Tale Poem Rhyme Scheme

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

Mary Darby Robinson

The Confessor, A Sanctified Tale Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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