LXXII.

Their only labour was to kill the time;
And labour dire it is, and weary woe.

They fit, they loll, turn o'er fome idie rhyme;
Then, rifing 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 the vapoury god foft-breathing in the wind.
LXXIII.

Now muft I mark the villainy we found,
But, ah! too late, as fhall eftfoons be fhewn.
A place here was, deep, dreary, under ground;
Where ftill our inmates, when unpleafing 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 thefe wretches taken was no care:

Fierce fiends, and hags of hell, their only nurses were.
LXXIV.

Alas! the change! from fcenes of joy and rest,
To this dark den, where fickness tofs'd alway.
Here Lethargy, with deadly fleep oppreft,
Stretch'd on his back, a mighty lubbard, lay,
Heaving his fides, and fnored night and day;
To ftir him from his traunce it was not eath,
And his half-open'd eyne he shut ftraitway :
He led, I wot, the fofteft way to death,

And taught withouten pain and strife to yield the breath.
LXXV. Of

LXXV.

Of limbs enormous, but withal unfound,
Soft-fwoln and pale, here lay the Hydropfy:
Unwieldy man; with belly monftrous round,
For ever fed with watery supply;

For ftill he drank, and yet he ftill was dry,
And moping here did Hypochondria fit,
Mother of fpleen, in robes of various dye,
Who vexed was full oft with ugly fit;

And fome her frantic deem'd, and fome her deem'd a
LXXVI.

A lady proud fhe was, of ancient blood,

Yet oft her fear her pride made crouchen low:

She felt, or fancy'd in her fluttering mood,
All the difeafes which the fpittles know,
And fought all phyfick which the shops bestow,
And still new leaches and new drugs would try,
Her humour ever wavering to and fro;

[wit.

For fometimes fhe would laugh, and fometimes cry, Then fudden waxed wroth, and all the knew not why. LXXVII.

Faft by her fide a liftlefs maiden pin'd,

With aching head, and fqueamish heart-burnings; Pale, bloated, cold, the feem'd to hate mankind, Yet lov'd in fecret all forbidden things. And here the Tertian fhakes his chilling wings; The fleeplefs Gout here counts the crowing cocks, A wolf now gnaws him, now a ferpent ftings; Whilft Apoplexy cramm'd Intemperance knocks Down to the ground at once, as butcher felleth ox. CANTO

E

CANT O II.

The knight of arts and industry,

And his atchievements fair;
That by his caftle's overthrow,
Secur'd, and crowned were.

I.

SCAP'D the caftle of the fire of fin,

Ah! where fhall I fo fweet a dwelling find? For all around, without, and all within, Nothing fave what delightful was and kind, Of goodness favouring and a tender mind, E'er rose to view. But now another ftrain, Of doleful note, alas! remains behind : I now muft fing of pleasure turn'd to pain, And of the falfe enchanter Indolence complain.

Το

II.

Is there no patron to protect the Muse,
And fence for her Parnaffus' barren foil?
labour its reward accrues,
And they are fure of bread who swink and moil;
But a fell tribe th' Aonian hive defpoil,

every

As ruthless wasps oft rob the painful bee:
Thus while the laws not guard that noblest toil,
Ne for the other Mufes meed decree,

They praised are alone, and starve right merrily.
VOL. I.

III. I

III.

I care not, Fortune, what you me deny :
You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace;
You cannot shut the windows of the sky,
Through which Aurora fhews her brightening face
You cannot bar my conftant feet to trace
The woods and lawns, by living ftream, at eve:
Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace,
And I their toys to the great children leave :
Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave.
IV.

Come then, my Mufe, and raise a bolder fong;
Come, lig no more upon the bed of floth,
Dragging the lazy languid line along,
Fond to begin, but still to finish loth,
Thy half-writ fcrolls all eaten by the moth:
Arife, and fing that generous imp of fame,
Who with the fons of foftnefs nobly wroth,
To sweep away this human lumber came,
Or in a chofen few to rouze the flumbering flame.
V.

In Fairy-Land there liv'd a knight of old,
Of feature ftern, Selvaggio well yclep'd,
A rough unpolish'd man, robust and bold,
But wondrous poor: he neither fow'd nor reap'd,
Ne ftores in fummer for cold winter heap'd;
In hunting all his days away he wore;

Now fcorch'd by June, now in November steep'd,
Now pinch'd by biting January fore,

He still in woods pursued the libbard and the boar.

VI.

As he one mornimg, long before the dawn,
Prick'd through the foreft to diflodge his prey,
Deep in the winding bofom of a lawn,

With wood wild-fring'd, he mark'd a taper's ray,
That from the beating rain, and wintery fray,

Did to a lonely cot his fteps decoy;

There, up to earn the needments of the day,
He found dame Poverty, nor fair nor coy :
Her he comprefs'd, and fill'd her with a lusty boy.
VII.

Amid the green-wood fhade this boy was bred,
And grew at last a knight of muchel fame,
Of active mind and vigorous luftyhed,

The Knight of Arts and Industry by name.
Earth was his bed, the boughs his roof did frame;
He knew no beverage but the flowing stream;
His tafteful well-earn'd food the fylvan game,

Or the brown fruit with which the woodlands teem: The fame to him glad fummer, or the winter breme. VIII.

So pafs'd his youthly morning, void of care,
Wild as the colts that through the commons run:
For him no tender parents troubled were,

He of the foreft feem'd to be the son,
And certes had been utterly undone;
But that Minerva pity of him took,
With all the gods that love the rural wonne,
That teach to tame the foil and rule the crook;
Ne did the facred Nine difdain a gentle look.