To rest the body and the mind, 1350
Which now thou art deny’d to keep,
And cure thy labour’d corpse with sleep. 
The Knight, who heard the words, explain’d,
As meant to him, this reprimand,
Because the character did hit 1355
Point-blank upon his case so fit;
Believ’d it was some drolling spright,
That staid upon the guard that night,
And one of those h’ had seen, and felt
The drubs he had so freely dealt; 1360
When, after a short pause and groan,
The doleful Spirit thus went on: 

This ‘tis t’ engage with dogs and bears
Pell-mell together by the ears,
And, after painful bangs and knocks, 1365
To lie in limbo in the stocks,
And from the pinnacle of glory
Fall headlong into purgatory.

(Thought he, this devil’s full of malice,
That in my late disasters rallies:) 1370
Condemn’d to whipping, but declin’d it,
By being more heroic-minded: 
And at a riding handled worse,
With treats more slovenly and coarse: 
Engag’d with fiends in stubborn wars, 1375
And hot disputes with conjurers;
And when th’ hadst bravely won the day,
Wast fain to steal thyself away.

(I see, thought he, this shameless elf
Wou’d fain steal me too from myself, 1380
That impudently dares to own
What I have suffer’d for and done,)
And now but vent’ring to betray,
Hast met with vengeance the same way.

Thought he, how does the Devil know 1385
What ’twas that I design’d to do? 
His office of intelligence,
His oracles, are ceas’d long since;
And he knows nothing of the Saints,
But what some treacherous spy acquaints. 1390
This is some pettifogging fiend,
Some under door-keeper’s friend’s friend,
That undertakes to understand,
And juggles at the second-hand;
And now would pass for Spirit Po, 1395
And all mens’ dark concerns foreknow. 
I think I need not fear him for’t;
These rallying devils do no hurt. 
With that he rouz’d his drooping heart,
And hastily cry’d out, What art? 1400
A wretch (quoth he) whom want of grace
Has brought to this unhappy place.

I do believe thee, quoth the Knight;
Thus far I’m sure th’ art in the right;
And know what ’tis that troubles thee, 1405
Better than thou hast guess’d of me. 
Thou art some paultry, black-guard spright,
Condemn’d to drudg’ry in the night
Thou hast no work to do in th’ house
Nor half-penny to drop in shoes; 1410
Without the raising of which sum,
You dare not be so troublesome,
To pinch the slatterns black and blue,
For leaving you their work to do.