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 still 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
A lady proud she was, of ancient blood,
Yet oft her fear her pride made crouchen low :
She felt, or fancy'd in her futtering mood,
All the difeafes which the fpittles know,
And fought all phyfick which the fhops beftow,
And ftill new leaches and new drugs would try,
Her humour ever wavering to and fro ;
For fometimes fhe would laugh, and fometimes cry, Then fudden waxed wroth, and all she knew not why. LXXVII.
Faft by her fide a listless maiden 'pin'd,
With aching head, and fqueamish heart-burnings;
Pale, bloated, cold, fhe feem'd to hate mankind,
Yet lov'd in fecret all forbidden things.
And here the Tertian shakes his chilling wings;
The fleepless Gout here counts the crowing cocks,
A wolf now gnaws him, now a ferpent ftings;
hilft Apoplexy cramm'd Intemperance knocks
the ground at once, as butcher felleth ox.
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 rofe to view. But now another strain, Of doleful note, alas! remains behind : I now muft fing of pleasure turn'd to pain, And of the falfe enchanter Indolence complain.
Is there no patron to protect the Muse,
And fence for her Parnaffus' barren foil?
To every labour its reward accrues,
And they are fure of bread who fwink and moil;
But a fell tribe th' Aonian hive defpoil,
As ruthless wafps 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.
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, reafon, virtue, nought can me bereave.
IV.
Come then, my Muse, and raise a bolder song;
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 foftness nobly wroth,
To sweep away this human lumber came,
Or in a chofen few to rouze the flumbering flame.
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,
11 in woods pursued the libbard and the boar.
As he one mornimg, long before the dawn,
Prick'd through the foreft to diflodge his prey,
Deep in the winding bosom 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 lufty 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 lustyhed,
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 fon,
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.
Of fertile genius him they nurtur'd well,
In every science, and in every art,
By which mankind the thoughtless brutes excel,
That can or ufe, or joy, or grace impart,
Disclofing all the powers of head and heart :
Ne were the goodly exercises fpar'd,
That brace the nerves, or make the limbs alert,
And mix elastic force with firmnefs hard:
Was never knight on ground mote be with him compar'.
X.
Sometimes, with early morn, he mounted gay
The hunter-steed, exulting o'er the dale,
And drew the rofeat breath of orient day;
Sometimes, retiring to the fecret vale,
Yclad in fteel, and bright with burnish’d mail,
He ftrain'd the bow, or tofs'd the founding spear,
Or darting on the goal outftripp'd the gale,
Or wheel'd the chariot in its mid-career,
Or ftrenuous wrestled hard with many a tough compeer.
XI.
At other times he pry'd through Nature's store,
Whate'er fhe in th' etherial round contains,
Whate'er the hides beneath her verdant floor,
The vegetable and the mineral reigns;
Or else he scann'd the globe, those small domains,
Where reftlefs mortals fuch a turmoil keep,
Its feas, its floods, its mountains, and its plains;
But more he search'd the mind, and rouz'd from sleep.
e moral feeds whence we heroic actions reap.
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