"Nor foul nor body ever more

"Shall ferve the nymph whom you adore;

"But both be laid at Satan's feet,

"To be difpos'd as he thinks meet."
At once the lover all approves ;

For who can hefitate that loves?
And thus he argues in his thought:
Why, after all, I venture nought;
"What mystery is in commanding?
"Does that require much understanding?
"Indeed, wert my part to obey,
"He'd go the better of the lay:

"But he must do what I think fit--

66

Pfhaw, pfhaw, young Belzebub is bit."
Thus pleas'd in mind, he calls a chair,
Adjusts, and combs, and courts the fair:
The fpell takes place, and all goes right,
And happy he employs the night
In fweet embraces balmy kiffes,
And riots in the blifs of bliffes.

"O joy," cried he, " that has no equal !"
But hold---no raptures---mark the fequel.
For now, when near the morning's dawn,
The youth began as 'twere to yawn;
His eyes a filky flumber feiz'd,

Or would have done, if Pug had pleas'd:
But that officious Damon near,
Now buzz'd for bufinefs in his ear;
In hafte, he names a thousand things:
The goblin plies his wicker wings,

And

And in a trice returns to ask

Another and another task.

Now palaces are built and towers,
The work of ages in few hours.
Then ftorms are in an instant rais'd,
Which the next moment are appeas'd.
Now showers of gold and gems are rain'd,
As if each India had been drain'd:
And he, in one astonish'd view,
Sees both Golconda and Peru.

These things, and stranger things than these,
Were done with equal speed and ease.
And now to Rome poor Pug he 'll fend;
And Pug foon reach'd his journey's end,
And foon return'd with such a pack
Of bulls and pardons at his back,

That now, the Squire (who had some hope
In holy water and the pope)

Was out of heart, and at a stand

What next to wish, and what command;
Invention flags, his brain grows muddy,
And black despair fucceeds brown study.
In this diftrefs the woeful youth
Acquaints the nymph with all the truth,
Begging her counsel, for whofe fake
Both foul and body were at stake,
"And is this all?" replies the fair:
"Let me alone to cure this care.
"When next your Dæmon shall appear,
"Pray give him---look, what I hold here,

"And

"And bid him labour, foon or late,

"To lay these ringlets lank and strait."
Then, fomething fcarcely to be feen,
Her finger and her thumb between
She held, and sweetly smiling, cry'd,
"Your Goblin's skill shall now be try’d.”
She faid; and gave---what fhall I call
That thing fo fhining, crifp, and small,
Which round his finger ftrove to twine?
A tendril of the Cyprian vine?
Or fprig from Cytherea's grove ;
Shade of the labyrinth of love?

With awe, he now takes from her hand
That fleece-like flower of fairy land:
Lefs precious, whilom, was the fleece
Which drew the Argonauts from Greece?
Or that, which modern ages fee

The fpur and prize of chivalry,

Whofe curls of kindred texture grace
Heroes and kings of Spanish race.

The fpark prepar'd, and Pug at hand,
He iffues, thus, his ftrict command :
“This line, thus curve and thus orbicular,
"Render direct, and perpendicular;

"But fo direct, that in no fort

"It ever may in rings retort.

"See me no more till this be done :

"Hence, to thy task---avaunt, be gone."
Away the fiend like lightning flies,
And all his wit to work applies:

Anvils

Anvils and preffes he employs,

:

And dins whole hell with hammering noise.
In vain he to no terms can bring
One twirl of that reluctant thing;
Th' elastic fibre mocks his pains,
And its firft fpiral form retains.
New ftratagems the fprite contrives,
And down the depths of fea he dives:
"This fprunt its pertnefs fure will lofe
"When laid (faid he) to foak in ooze."
Poor foolish fiend! he little knew
Whence Venus and her garden grew.
Old Ocean, with paternal waves
The child of his own bed receives;
Which oft as dipt new force exerts,
And in more vigorous curls reverts.
So when to earth Alcides flung
The huge Antæus, whence he fprung,
From every fall fresh ftrength he gain'd,
And with new life the fight maintain'd.
The baffled Goblin grows perplex'd,
Now knows what flight to practise next :
The more he tries, the more he fails;
Nor charm, for art, nor force avails.
But all concur his fhame to fhow,
And more exafperate the foe.

And now he penfive turns and fad,
And looks like melancholic mad.
He rolls his eyes now off, now on
That wonderful phænomenon.

Some

Sometimes he twifts and twirls it round,
Then, pausing, meditates profound:
No end he fees of his furprize,

Nor what it fhould be can devife:
For never yet was wool or feather,
That could stand buff against all weather;
And unrelax'd, like this, refift

Both wind and rain, and fnow and mift.
What stuff, or whence, or how 'twas made,
What spinster which could spin such thread,
He nothing knew; but, to his cost,
Knew all his fame and labour loft.

Subdued, abafh'd, he gave it o'er;
'Tis faid, he blufh'd; 'tis fure, he fwore
Not all the wiles that hell could hatch
Could conquer that Superb Mustach.
Defeated thus, thus difcontent,

Back to the man the Dæmon went :
"I grant," quoth he, "our contract null,
"And give you a discharge in full.
"But tell me now, in name of wonder,
(Since I fo candidly knock under)

“What is this thing? Where could it grow?

Pray take it---'tis in statu quo.

"Much good may 't do you; for my part,
"I wash my hands of 't from my heart."
"In truth, Sir Goblin or Sir Fairy,"
Replies the lad, “ you 're too foon weary.

What, leave this trifling task undone ! "And think'st thou this the only one?

I

"Alas!