am I found,
And (save at church) abhor a tuneful sound;
To plays and shows I run not to and fro,
And where my master goes, forbear to go.” 
   No wonder Satan took the thing amiss,
To be opposed by such a man as this —
A man so grave, important, cautious, wise,
Who dared not trust his feeling or his eyes;
No wonder he should lurk and lie in wait,
Should fit his hooks and ponder on his bait;
Should on his movements keep a watchful eye;
For he pursued a fish who led the fry. 
   With his own peace our Clerk was not content;
He tried, good man! to make his friends repent. 
   “Nay, nay, my friends, from inns and taverns fly;
You may suppress your thirst, but not supply: 
A foolish proverb says, ‘the devil’s at home;’
But he is there, and tempts in every room: 
Men feel, they know not why, such places please;
His are the spells—­they’re idleness and ease;
Magic of fatal kind he throws around,
Where care is banish’d, but the heart is bound. 
   “Think not of beauty;—­when a maid you meet,
Turn from her view and step across the street;
Dread all the sex:  their looks create a charm,
A smile should fright you and a word alarm: 
E’en I myself, with all my watchful care,
Have for an instant felt the insidious snare;
And caught my sinful eyes at the endang’ring stars;
Till I was forced to smite my bounding breast
With forceful blow, and bid the bold-one rest. 
   “Go not with crowds when they to pleasure run,
But public joy in private safety shun: 
When bells, diverted from their true intent,
Ring loud for some deluded mortal sent
To hear or make long speech in parliament;
What time the many, that unruly beast,
Roars its rough joy and shares the final feast? 
Then heed my counsel, shut thine ears and eyes;
A few will hear me—­for the few are wise.” 
   Not Satan’s friends, nor Satan’s self could bear,
The cautious man who took of souls such care;
An interloper,—­one who, out of place,
Had volunteered upon the side of grace: 
There was his master ready once a week
To give advice; what further need he seek? 
“Amen, so be it:”—­what had he to do
With more than this?—­’twas insolent and new;
And some determined on a way to see
How frail he was, that so it might not be. 
   First they essay’d to tempt our saint to sin,
By points of doctrine argued at an inn;
Where he might warmly reason, deeply drink,
Then lose all power to argue and to think. 
   In vain they tried; he took the question up,
Clear’d every doubt, and barely touch’d the cup: 
By many a text he proved his doctrine sound,
And look’d in triumph on the tempters round. 
   Next ’twas their care an artful lass to find,
Who might consult him, as perplex’d in mind;
She they conceived might put her case with fears,
With tender tremblings and seducing tears;
She might such charms of various kind display,