And yet, lest strange ill, From such conjuring skill, Should arise, and their souls be in danger,-- He would have his crab-stick, And would show my lord Nick Some tricks to which he was a stranger!
O the lad 'gan to raise 'Neath the caldron a blaze,-- While the Miller, his crab-cudgel grasping, Stood on watch, for his life!-- But his terrified wife Her hands--in devotion--was clasping!
When the copper grew warm, Quoth the lad, "Lest some harm From the visit of Nick be betiding,-- Set open the door, And not long on the floor Will the Goblin of Hell be abiding!"
Quickly so did the host, And returned to his post,-- Uplifting his cudgel with trembling:-- His strength was soon proved,-- For the copper-lid moved!-- When Grist's fears grew too big for dissembling.
Turning white as the wall, His staff he let fall,-- While the Devil from the caldron ascended,-- And, all on a heap,-- With a flying leap, On the fear-stricken Miller descended!
In dread lest his soul, In the Devil's foul goal, Should be burnt to a spiritual cinder,-- Grist grabbed the Fiend's throat, And his grisly eyes smote,-- Till Nick's face seemed a platter of tinder!
Yea, with many a thwack, Grist battered Nick's back,-- Nor spared Satan's portly abdomen!-- Hot Nick had lain cold By this time--but his hold Grist lost, through the screams of his woman!
While up from the floor, And out, at the door, Went the Fiend, with the skip of a dancer! He seemed panic-struck,-- Or, doubted his luck,-- For he neither staid question nor answer!
"Grist!" the beggar-lad cried, "Lay your trembling aside, And tell me, my man, how ye like him. 'Twas well ye were cool: He'd have proved ye a fool,-- Had ye dar'd with the cudgel to strike him!"
"By saint Martin!" Grist said, And, scratching his head, Seemed pondering between good and evil,-- "I could swear and avouch 'Twas the Prior of Roche,-- If thou hadst not said 'twas the Devil!"
And, in deed and in sooth,-- Though a marvellous truth,-- Yet such was the Fiend's revelation!-- But think it not strange He should choose such a change:-- 'Tis much after his old occupation:--
An angel of light, 'Tis his darling delight To be reckoned--'tis very well tested:-- I argue, therefore, 'Twas not sinning much more, In the garb of a Prior to be vested.