For whomsoe'er the villain takes in hand, Their joints unknit, their sinews melt apace; As lithe they grow as any willow-wand, And of their vanish'd force remains no trace: So when a maiden fair, of modest grace, In all her buxom blooming May of charms, Is seized in some losel's hot embrace, She waxeth very weakly as she warms, Then sighing yields her up to love's delicious harms. Wak'd by the crowd, slow from his bench arose A comely full-spread porter, swoln with sleep: His calm, broad, thoughtless aspect, breath'd repose; And in sweet torpor he was plunged deep, Ne could himself from ceaseless yawning keep; While o'er his eyes the drowsy liquor ran, Thro' which his half-wak'd soul would faintly peep. Then, taking his black staff, he call'd his man, And rous'd himself as much as rouse himself he can. The lad leap'd lightly at his master's call. Meantime the master-porter wide display'd O fair undress, best dress! it checks no vein, Sir porter sat him down, and turn'd to sleep again. Thus easy rob'd, they to the fountain sped, drew. It was a fountain of Nepenthe rare : Whence, as Dan Homer sings, huge pleasaunce grew, And sweet oblivion of vile earthly care; Fair gladsome waking thoughts, and joyous dreams more fair. This rite perform'd, all inly pleas'd and still, As thick as idle motes in sunny ray, Our easy bliss, when each thing joy supplied; The woods, the mountains, and the warbling maze Of the wild brooks!-But fondly wandering wide, My Muse, resume the task that yet doth thee abide. One great amusement of our household was, Run bustling to and fro with foolish haste, "Of vanity the mirror" this was call'd. Firm to this scoundrel maxim keepeth he, Till it has quench'd his fire, and banished his pot. Straight from the filth of this low grub, behold! Comes fluttering forth a gaudy spendthrift heir, All glossy gay, enamel'd all with gold, The silly tenant of the summer-air, In folly lost, of nothing takes he care; Pimps, lawyers, stewards, harlots, flatterers vile, And thieving tradesmen him among them share : His father's ghost from limbo-lake, the while, Sees this, which more damnation doth upon him pile. This globe portray'd the race of learned men, Still at their books, and turning o'er the page Backwards and forwards: oft they snatch the pen, As if inspir'd, and in a Thespian rage; Then write, and blot, as would your ruth engage. Why, authors, all this scrawl and scribbling sore? To lose the present, gain the future age, Praised to be when you can hear no more, And much enrich'd with fame, when useless worldly store. Then would a splendid city rise to view, With carts, and cars, and coaches, roaring all: Wide pour'd abroad behold the giddy crew; See how they dash along from wall to wall! At every door, hark how they thundering call! Good Lord! what can this giddy rout excite ? Why, on each other with fell tooth to fall; A neighbor's fortune, fame, or peace to blight, And make new tiresome parties for the coming night. The puzzling sons of party next appear'd, Th' important shoulder; then, as if to get But what most show'd the vanity of life. Was to behold the nations all on fire, In cruel broils engag'd, and deadly strife: Most Christian kings, inflam'd by black desire, With honorable ruffians in their hire, Cause war to rage, and blood around to pour : Of this sad work when each begins to tire, They sit them down just where they were before, Till for new scenes of woe peace shall their force restore. To number up the thousands dwelling here, But these I passen by, with nameless numbers moe. Of all the gentle tenants of the place, There was a man of special grave remark: A certain tender gloom o'erspread his face, Pensive, not sad, in thought involv'd, not dark; As soot this man could sing as morning-lark, And teach the noblest morals of the heart: But these his talents were yburied stark; Of the fine stores he nothing would impart, Which or boon Nature gave, or Nature-painting Art. To noontide shades incontinent he ran, Sauntering and slow. So had he passed many a day! Yet not in thoughtless slumber were they past: But with the clouds they fled, and left no trace behind. With him was sometimes join'd, in silent walk, New light, their twinkling eyes were inward set. The glittering star of eve―"Thank Heaven! the No sooner Lucifer recalls affairs, Than forth they various rush in mighty fret; day is done." Here lurk'd a wretch, who had not crept abroad Alas! the change! from scenes of joy and rest, To this dark den, where Sickness toss'd alway. Here Lethargy, with deadly sleep opprest, Stretch'd on his back, a mighty lubbard, lay, Heaving his sides, and snored night and day; To stir him from his traunce it was not eath, And his half-open'd eyne he shut straightway: He led, I wot, the softest way to death, I care not, Fortune, what you me deny : And taught withouten pain and strife to yield the Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave. breath. |