What would the holy man on me bestow? 
          I know not what to say nor how to act;
          Now cousin Anne would with him be exact,
          And better recollect his sage advice:—­
          Fool! said the mother, never be so nice;
          Go, nothing fear, and do whate’er’s desired;
          Much understanding will not be required;
          The first or second time thou’lt get thy cue,
          And cousin Anne will less know what to do. 
          Indeed? the girl replied; well, let’s away,
          And we’ll return to bed without delay. 
          But softly, cried the mother with a smile;
          Not quite so fast, for Satan may beguile;
          And if ’twere so, hast taken proper care? 
          I think he spoke like one who would ensnare. 
          To be precipitate, in such a case,
          Perhaps might lead at once to dire disgrace. 
          If thou wert terrified and did’st not hear,
          Myself I’m sure was quite o’ercome with fear. 
          No, no, rejoined the daughter, I am right: 
          I clearly heard, dear mother, spite of fright. 
          Well then, replied the widow, let us pray,
          That we by Satan be not led astray.

          Atlength they both arose when morning came,
          And through the day the converse was the same. 
          At night howe’er the horn was heard once more,
          And terrified the females as before. 
          Thou unbelieving woman, cried the voice,
          For certain purposes of God the choice;
          No more delay, but to the hermit fly,
          Or ’tis decreed that thou shalt quickly die. 
          Now, mother, said the girl, I told you well;
          Come, let us hasten to the hermit’s cell;
          So much I dread your death, I’ll nothing shun;
          And if ’tis requisite, I’ll even run. 
          Away then, cried the mother, let us go;
          Some pains to dress, the daughter would bestow,
          Without reflecting what might be her fare:—­
          To please is ev’ry blooming lass’s care.

          Ourmonk was on the watch you may suppose;
          A hole he made that would a glimpse disclose;
          By which, when near his cell the females drew,
          They might, with whip in hand the hermit view,
          Who, like a culprit punished for his crimes,
          Received the lash, and that so many times,
          It sounded like the discipline of schools,
          And made more noise than flogging fifty fools.

          Whenfirst our pilgrims knocked, he would not hear;
          And, for the moment, whipping would appear;
          The holy lash severely he applied,
          Which, through the hole, with pain our females spied;
          At length the door he ope’d, but from his eyes