No More Learning

_"
A second pules: "_Hence, hence, profane! _"
Hard by, i' th' shell of half a nut,
The holy-water there is put:
A little brush of squirrel's hairs
(Composed of odd, not even pairs,)
Stands in the platter, or close by,
To purge the fairy family.
Near to the altar stands the priest,
There off'ring up the Holy Grist,
Ducking in mood and perfect tense,
With (much-good-do-'t him) reverence.
The altar is not here four-square,
Nor in a form triangular,
Nor made of glass, or wood, or stone,
But of a little transverse bone;
Which boys and bruckel'd children call
(Playing for points and pins) cockal.
Whose linen drapery is a thin
Subtile and ductile codlin's skin:
Which o'er the board is smoothly spread
With little seal-work damasked.
The fringe that circumbinds it too
Is spangle-work of trembling dew,
Which, gently gleaming, makes a show
Like frost-work glitt'ring on the snow.
Upon this fetuous board doth stand
Something for show-bread, and at hand,
Just in the middle of the altar,
Upon an end, the fairy-psalter,
Grac'd with the trout-flies' curious wings,
Which serve for watchet ribbonings.
Now, we must know, the elves are led
Right by the rubric which they read.
And, if report of them be true,
They have their text for what they do;
Aye, and their book of canons too.
And, as Sir Thomas Parson tells,
They have their book of articles;
And, if that fairy-knight not lies,
They have their book of homilies;
And other scriptures that design
A short but righteous discipline.
The basin stands the board upon
To take the free oblation:
A little pin-dust, which they hold
More precious than we prize our gold
Which charity they give to many
Poor of the parish, if there's any.
Upon the ends of these neat rails,
Hatch'd with the silver-light of snails,
The elves in formal manner fix
Two pure and holy candlesticks:
In either which a small tall bent
Burns for the altar's ornament.
For sanctity they have to these
Their curious copes and surplices
Of cleanest cobweb hanging by
In their religious vestery.
They have their ash-pans and their brooms
To purge the chapel and the rooms;
Their many mumbling Mass-priests here,
And many a dapper chorister,
Their ush'ring vergers, here likewise
Their canons and their chanteries.
Of cloister-monks they have enow,
Aye, and their abbey-lubbers too;
And, if their legend do not lie,
They much affect the papacy.
And since the last is dead, there's hope
_Elf Boniface shall next be pope_.
They have their cups and chalices;
Their pardons and indulgences;
Their beads of nits, bells, books, and wax
Candles, forsooth, and other knacks;
Their holy oil, their fasting spittle;
Their sacred salt here, not a little;
Dry chips, old shoes, rags, grease and bones;
Beside their fumigations
To drive the devil from the cod-piece
Of the friar (of work an odd piece).
Many a trifle, too, and trinket,
And for what use, scarce man would think it.
Next, then, upon the chanters' side
An apple's core is hung up dri'd,
With rattling kernels, which is rung
To call to morn and even-song.
The saint to which the most he prays
And offers incense nights and days,
The lady of the lobster is,
Whose foot-pace he doth stroke and kiss;
And humbly chives of saffron brings
For his most cheerful offerings.
When, after these, h'as paid his vows
He lowly to the altar bows;
And then he dons the silk-worm's shed,
Like a Turk's turban on his head,
And reverently departeth thence,
Hid in a cloud of frankincense,
And by the glow-worm's light well guided,
Goes to the feast that's now provided.

_Halcyon_, king-fisher.
_Saint Tit_, etc. , see Note.
_Mab's-state_, Mab's chair of state.
_Bruckel'd_, begrimed.
_Cockal_, a game played with four huckle-bones.
_Codlin_, an apple.
_Fetuous_, feat, neat.
_Watchet_, pale blue.
_Hatch'd_, inlaid.