The farther back again they flagging go,
And leaves us grovelling on the dreary shore.
Taught by this fon of Joy we found it so,
Who, whilst he staid, kept in a gay uproar
Our madden'd Castle all, the abode of Sleep no more.
As when in prime of June a burnish'd fly,
Sprung from the meads, o'er which he sweeps along
Cheer'd by the breathing bloom and vital sky,
Tunes up amid these airy halls his fong,
Soothing at first the gay reposing throng;
And oft' he sips their bowl; or nearly drown'd,
He, thence recovering, drives their beds among,
And scares their tender sleep, with trump profound,
Then out again he flies, to wing his mazy round.
Another guest there was, of sense refin'd,
Who felt each worth, for every worth he had;
Serene, yet warm, humane, yet firm his mind,
As little touch'd as any man's with bad :
Him thro' their inmost walks the Muses lad,
To him the facred love of Nature lent,
And fometimes would he make our valley glad;
Whenas we found he would not here be pent,
To him the better fort this friendly message sent:
"Come, dwell with us, true son of Virtue! come; "But if, alas! we cannot thee perfuade
"To lie content beneath our peaceful dome,
"Ne ever more to quit our quiet glade,
"Yet when at last thy toils, but ill apaid,
"Shall dead thy fire, and dampits heavenly spark,
Thou wilt be glad to feek the rural shade, "There to indulge the Muse, and Nature mark; "We thena lodge for thee will rear in Hagley-Park."
Here whilom ligg'd th' Esopus * of the age,
But call'd by Fame, in foul ypricked deep,
A noble pride restor'd him to the stage,
And rous'd him like a giant from his sleep.
Even from his slumbers we advantage reap:
With double force th' enliven'd scene he wakes,
Yet quits not Nature's bounds. He knows to keep
Each due decorum. Now the heart he shakes,
And now with well-urg'd sense th' enlighten'd judg
A bard here dwelt, more fat than bard beseems,
+ Who, void of envy, guile, and luft of gain,
On virtue still, and Nature's pleasing themes,
Pour'd forth his unpremeditated strain:
The world forsaking with a calm disdain,
Here laugh'd he careless in his eafy feat;
+ The following lines of this stanza were writ by a friend of the Author,
Here quaff'd, encircled with the joyous train,
Oft' moralizing sage; his ditty sweet
He loathed much to write, ne cared to repeat.
LXIX.
Full oft' by holy feet our ground was trod,
Of clerks good plenty here you mote espy;
A little, round, fat, oily man of God,
Was one I chiefly mark'd among the fry:
He had a roguish twinkle in his eye,
And shone all glittering with ungodly dew,
If a tight damsel chanc'd to trippen by;
Which when obferv'd, he shrunk into his mew,
And strait would recollect his piety anew,
Nor be forgot a tribe who minded nought
(Old inmates of the place) but state-affairs;
They look'd, perdie, as if they deeply thought,
And on their brow fat every nation's cares.
The world by them is parcell'd out in shares,
When in the Hall of Smoke they congress hold,
And the sage berry sun-burnt Mocha bears
Has clear'd their inward eye: then, smoke-enroll'd,
Their oracles break forth mysterious as of old.
LXXI.
Here languid Beauty kept her pale-fac'd court:
Bevies of dainty dames, of high degree,
From every quarter hither made-refort,
Where, from gross mortal care and business free
They lay, por'd out in ease and luxury :
Or should they a vain shew of work afsume,
Alas! and well-a-day! what can it be?
To knot, to twist, to range the vernal bloom,
But far is caft the distaff, spinning-wheel, and loom.
Their only labour was to kill the time,
And labour dire it is, and weary woe:
They fit, they loll, turn o'er some idle rhyme,
Then, rising sudden, to the glass they go,
Or faunter forth, with tottering step and flow :
This foon too rude an exercise they find;
Strait on the couch their limbs again they throw,
Where hours on hours they fighing lie reclin'd,
And court thevapourygodsoft-breathing in the wind.
Now must I mark the villany we found;
But, ah! too late, as shall eftfoons be shewn.
A place here was, deep, dreary, under ground,
Where still our inmates, when unpleasing grown,
Diseas'd, and loathsome, privily were thrown.
Far from the light of heaven, they languish'd there,
Unpity'd, uttering many a bitter groan,
For of these wretches taken was no care;
Fierce fiends and hags of hell their only nurses were.
LXXIV.
Alas! the change! from scenes of joy and rest,
To this dark den, where Sickness toss'd alway.
Here Lethargy, with deadly fleep opprest,
Stretch'd on his back, a mighty lubbard, lay
Heaving his fides, and snored night and day;
To ftir him from his traunce it was not eath,
And his half-open'd eyne he shut straitway;
He led, I wot, the softest way to death,
And taught withouten pain and strife to yield the [breath.
Of limbs enormous, but withal unfound,
Soft-fwoln and pale, here lay the Hydropsy:
Unweildy man! with belly monstrous round,
For ever fed with watery supply;
For ftill he drank, and yet he still was dry.
And moping here did Hypochondria fit,
Mother of Spleen, in robes of various dye,
Who vexed was full oft' with ugly fit,
And fome her frantic deem'd, and some her deem'd
A lady proud she was, of ancient blood,
Yet oft' her fear her pride made crouchen low;
She felt, or fancy'd, in her fluttering mood,
All the diseases which the Spittles know,
And fought all physic which the shops bestow,
And ftill new leaches and new drugs would try,
Her humour ever wavering to and fro;
For fometimes the would laugh, and sometimes cry,
Then fudden waxed wroth, and all the knew not why.
Volume II.
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