St. Dunstan and the Devil
“And it is for trouth reported, that where this signe dothe appere, there the Evill Spirite entreth not.”
—SERMON ON WITCHES.
“Your wife’s a witch, man; you should nail a horse-shoe on your chamber-door.”
—REDGAUNTLET.
In days of yore, when saints were plenty
(For each one now, you’d then find twenty,)
In Glaston’s fruitful vale
Saint Dunstan had his dwelling snug
Warm as that inmate of a rug
Named in no polished tale
The holy man, when not employed
At prayers or meals, to work enjoyed
With anvil, forge, and sledge
These he provided in his cell
With saintly furniture as well;
So chroniclers allege
The peaceful mattock, ploughshare, spade
Sickle, and pruning-hook he made
Eschewing martial labours
Thus bees will rather honey bring
Than hurtfully employ their sting
In warfare for their neighbours
A cheerful saint too, oft would he
Mellow old Time with minstrelsy,—
But such as gave no scandal;
Than his was never harp more famed;
For Dunstan was the blacksmith named
Harmonious by Handel
And when with tuneful voice he sang
His well-strung harp’s melodious twang
Accompaniment lending;
So sweetly wedded were the twain
The chords flowed mingled with the strain
Mellifluently blending
Now ’tis well known mankind’s great foe
Oft lurks and wanders to and fro
In bailiwicks and shires;
Scattering broad-cast his mischief-seeds
Planting the germs of wicked deeds
Choking fair shoots with poisonous weeds
Till goodness nigh expires
Well, so it chanced, this tramping vagrant
Intent on villanies most flagrant
Ranged by Saint Dunstan’s gate;
And hearing music so delicious
Like hooded snake, his spleen malicious
Swelled up with envious hate
Thought Nick, I’ll make his harp a fool;
I’ll push him from his music-stool;
Then, skulking near the saint
The vilest jars Nick loudly sounded
Of brayings, neighings, screams compounded;
How the musician’s ears were wounded
Not Hogarth e’en could paint
The devil fancied it rare fun
“Well! don’t you like my second, Dun?
Two parts sound better sure than one,”
Said he, with queer grimace:
“Come sing away, indeed you shall;
Strike up a spicy madrigal
And hear me do the bass.”
This chaffing Dunstan could not brook
His clenched fist, his crabbed look
Betrayed his irritation
’Twas nuts for Nick’s derisive jaw
Who fairly chuckled when he saw
The placid saint’s vexation
“Au revoir, friend, adieu till noon;
Just now you are rather out of tune
Your visage is too sharp;
Your ear perhaps a trifle flat:
When I return, ‘All round my hat’
We’ll have upon the harp.”
A tale, I know, has gone about
That Dunstan twinged him by the snout
With pincers hotly glowing;
Levying, by fieri facias tweak
A diabolic screech and squeak
No tender mercy showing
But antiquarians the most curious
Reject that vulgar tale as spurious;
His reverence, say they
Instead of giving nose a pull
Resolved on vengeance just and full
Upon some future day
Dunstan the saying called to mind
“The devil through his paw behind
Alone shall penal torture find
From iron, lead, or steel.”
Achilles thus had been eternal
Thanks to his baptism infernal
But for his mortal heel
And so the saint, by wisdom guided
To fix old Clootie’s hoof decided
With horse-shoe of real metal
And iron nails quite unmistakable;
For Dunstan, now become implacable
Resolved Nick’s hash to settle
Satan, of this without forewarning
Worse luck for him! the following morning
With simper sauntered in;
Squinted at what the saint was doing
But never smoked the mischief brewing
Putting his foot in’t; soon the shoeing
Did holy smith begin
Oh! ’twas worth coin to see him seize
That ugly leg, and ’twixt his knees
Firmly the pastern grasp
The shoe he tried on, burning hot
His tools all handy he had got
Hammer, and nails, and rasp
A startled stare the devil lent
Much wondering what St. Dunstan meant
This preluding to follow
But the first nail from hammer’s stroke
Full soon Nick’s silent wonder broke
For his shrill scream might then have woke
The sleepiest of Sleepy Hollow
And distant Echo heard the sound
Vexing the hills for leagues around
But answer would not render
She may not thus her lips profane:
So Shadow, fearful of a stain
Avoids the black offender
The saint no pity had on Nick
But drove long nails right through the quick;
Louder shrieked he, and faster
Dunstan cared not; his bitter grin
Without mistake, showed Father Sin
He had found a ruthless master
And having driven, clenched, and filed
The saint reviewed his work, and smiled
With cruel satisfaction;
And jeering said, “Pray, ere you go
Dance me the pas seul named ‘Jim Crow,’
With your most graceful action.”
To tell how Horny yelled and cried
And all the artful tricks he tried
To ease his tribulations
Would more than fill a bigger book
Than ever author undertook
Since the Book of Lamentations
His tail’s short, quick, convulsive coils
Told of more pain than all Job’s boils
When Satan brought, with subtle toils
Job’s patience to the scratch
For sympathetic tortures spread
From hoof to tail, from tail to head:
All did the anguish catch
And yet, though seemed this sharp correction
Stereotyped in Satan’s recollection
As in his smarting hocks;
Not until he the following deed
Had signed and sealed, St. Dunstan freed
The vagabond from stocks
To all good folk in Christendom to whom this instrument shall come the Devil sendeth greeting: Know ye that for himself and heirs said Devil covenants and declares, that never at morn or evening prayers at chapel church or meeting, never where concords of sweet sound sacred or social flow around or harmony is woo’d, nor where the Horse-Shoe meets his sight on land or sea by day or night on lowly sill or lofty pinnacle on bowsprit helm mast boom or binnacle, said Devil will intrude.
The horse-shoe now saves keel, and roof
From visits of this rover’s hoof
The emblem seen preventing
He recks the bond, but more the pain
The nails went so against the grain
The rasp was so tormenting
He will not through Granāda march
For there he knows the horse-shoe arch
At every gate attends him
Nor partridges can he digest
Since the dire horse-shoe on the breast
Most grievously offends him
The name of Smith he cannot bear;
Smith Payne he’ll curse, and foully swear
At Smith of Pennsylvania
With looks so wild about the face;
Monro called in, pronounced the case
Clear antismithymania;
And duly certified that Nick
Should be confined as lunatic
Fit subject for commission
But who the deuce would like to be
The devil’s person’s committee?
So kindred won’t petition
Now, since the wicked fiend’s at large
Skippers, and housekeepers, I charge
You all to heed my warning
Over your threshold, on your mast
Be sure the horse-shoe’s well nailed fast
Protecting and adorning
Here note, if humourists by trade
On waistcoat had the shoe displayed
Lampoon’s sour spirit might be laid
And cease its spiteful railing
Whether the humour chanced to be
Joke, pun, quaint ballad, repartee
Slang, or bad spelling, we should see
Good humour still prevailing
And oh! if Equity, as well
As Nisi Prius, would not sell
Reason’s perfection ever
To wrangling suitors sans horse-shoe
Lawyers would soon have nought to do
Their subtle efforts ceasing too
Reason from right to sever
While Meux the symbol wears, tant mieux
Repelling sinful aid to brew
His liquid strains XX;
Still, I advise, strong drinks beware
No horse-shoe thwarts the devil there
Or demon-mischief checks
And let me rede you, Mr. Barry
Not all your arms of John, Dick, Harry
Plantagenet, or Tudor;
Nor your projections, or your niches
Affluent of crowns and sculptile riches
Will scare the foul intruder
He’ll care not for your harp a whistle
Nor lion, horse, rose, shamrock, thistle
Horn’d head, or Honi soit;
Nor puppy-griffs, though doubtless meant
Young senators to represent
Like Samson, armed with jaw
Only consult your sober senses
And ponder well the consequences
If in some moment evil
The old sinner should take Speaker’s chair
Make Black Rod fetch the nobles there
And with them play the devil!
Then do not fail, great architect
Assembled wisdom to protect
From Satan’s visitation
With horse-shoe fortify each gate
Each lion’s paw; and then the State
Is safe from ruination