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With wondrous pompe and furniture, amid the Church they go, With candles, crosses, banners, Chrisme, and oyle appoynted tho: Nine times about the font they marche, and on the saintes doe call, Then still at length they stande, and straight the Priest begins withall, And thrise the water doth he touche, and crosses thereon make, Here bigge and barbrous wordes he speakes, to make the devill quake: And holsome waters conjureth, and foolishly doth dresse, Supposing holyar that to make, which God before did blesse: And after this his candle than, he thrusteth in the floode, And thrise he breathes thereon with breath, that stinkes of former foode: And making here an ende, his Chrisme he poureth thereupon, The people staring hereat stande, amazed every one; Beleeving that great powre is given to this water here, By gaping of these learned men, and such like trifling gere.
In a quaint treatise on Belles Lettres in France nearly two centuries ago, by Carlencas, the writer says: "It is to no great purpose to speak of the Gothick sculptures: for everybody knows that they are the works of a rude art, formed in spite of nature and rules: sad productions of barbrous and dull spirits, which disfigure our old churches." Fie on a Frenchman who could so express himself!
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