But I, whom griping penury furrounds, And hunger, fure attendant upon want, With scanty offals, and fmall acid tiff (Wretched repaft!) my meagre corps sustain ; Then folitary walk, or doze at home In garret vile, and with a warming puff Regale chill'd fingers; or from tube as black As winter-chimney, or well-polish'd jet, Exhale mundungus, ill-perfuming scent; Not blacker tube, nor of a shorter fize, Smokes Cambro-Britain (vers'd in pedigree) Sprung from Cadwalader and Arthur, kings Full famous in romantick tale) when he
many a craggy hill and barren cliff, Upon a cargo of fam'd Ceftrian cheese, High over-shadowing rides, with a defign
To vend his wares, or at th' Arvonian marte,
Thus while my joyless minutes tedious flow, 35 With looks demure, and filent pace, a Dun, Horrible monster! hated by gods and men, To my aërial citadel ascends,
With vocal heel thrice thund'ring at my gate, With hideous accent thrice he calls; I know
The voice ill-boding, and the folemn found. What should I do? or whither turn? Amaz'd, Confounded, to the dark recess I fly
Of wood-hole; ftrait my bristling hairs erect Thro' fudden fear; a chilly sweat bedews My fhud'ring limbs, and (wonderful to tell!) My tongue forgets her faculty of speech; So horrible he feems! His faded brow Entrench'd with many a frown, and conic beard, And spreading band, admir'd by modern faints, Difaftrous acts forebode; in his right hand Long scrolls of paper folemnly he waves, With characters and figures dire inscrib'd, Grievous to mortal eyes; (ye gods, avert Such plagues from righteous men!) Behind him ftalks
Another monster, not unlike himself,
Sullen of afpect, by the vulgar call'd
A Catchpole, whose polluted hands the gods With force incredible, and magick charms, Erft have endu'd: if he his ample palm Should haply on ill-fated fhoulder lay Of debtor, ftrait his body to the touch Obfequious, (as whilom knights were wont) To fome inchanted caftle is convey'd,
Where gates impregnable, and coercive chains, In durance ftrict detain him, till, in form Of money, Pallas fets the captive free.
Beware, ye debtors, when ye walk, beware, Be circumfpect; oft with infidious ken
The caitiff eyes your fteps aloof, and oft Lies perdue in a nook or gloomy cave, Prompt to inchant fome inadvertent wretch With his unhallow'd touch. So (poets fing) Grimalkin, to domestick vermin fworn An everlasting foe, with watchful eye Lies nightly brooding o'er a chinky gap, Protending her fell claws, to thoughtless mice Sure ruin. So her difembowell'd web Arachne, in a hall or kitchin, spreads Obvious to vagrant flies: fhe secret stands Within her woven cell; the humming prey, Regardless of their fate, rush on the toils Inextricable, nor will aught avail
Their arts, or arms, or shapes of lovely hue; The wafp infidious, and the buzzing drone, And butterfly proud of expanded wings Distinct with gold, entangled in her fnares Ufelefs refiftance make: with eager ftrides She tow'ring flies to her expected spoils; Then, with envenom'd jaws, the vital blood Drinks of reluctant foes, and to her cave Their bulky carcaffes triumphant drags.
So pass my days. But, when nocturnal shades This world invelop, and th' inclement air
Perfuades men to repel benumming frofts
With pleasant wines, and crackling blaze of wood; Me, lonely fitting, nor the glimmering light Of make-weight candle, nor the joyous talk Of loving friend, delights; distress'd, forlorn, Amidst the horrors of the tedious night, Darkling I figh, and feed with dismal thoughts My anxious mind; or sometimes mournful verse Indite, and fing of groves and myrtle fhades, Or defperate lady near a purling ftream, Or lover pendant on a willow-tree. Meanwhile I labour with eternal drought,
And restless wish, and rave; my parched throat Finds no relief, nor heavy eyes repose:
But if a flumber haply does invade My weary limbs, my fancy's ftill awake, Thoughtful of drink, and eager, in a dream, Tipples imaginary pots of ale,
In vain; awake I find the fettled thirft
Still gnawing, and the pleasant phantom curse.
Thus do I live, from pleasure quite debarr'd, Nor tafte the fruits that the fun's genial rays Mature, John-apple, nor the downy peach, Nor walnut in rough-furrow'd coat secure, Nor medlar-fruit, delicious in decay : Adictions great! yet greater ftill remain: My galligakins, that have long with flood The winter's fury, and incroaching frofts,
By time fubdu'd (what will not time fubdue!) An horrid chaẩm disclose, with orifice Wide, discontinuous; at which the winds Eurus and Auster, and the dreadful force Of Boreas, that congeals the Cronian waves, Tumultuous enter with dire chilling blasts, Portending agues. Thus a well-fraught ship, Long fail'd fecure, or thro' th'Ægean deep, Or the Ionian, till cruifing near
The Lilybean fhore, with hideous crush,
On Scylla, or Charybdis (dang'rous rocks!)
She strikes rebounding; whence the shatter'd oak, So fierce a shock unable to withstand,
Admits the sea; in at the gaping fide
The crowding waves gush with impetuous rage, Refiftlefs, overwhelming; horrors feize
The mariners; death in their eyes appears,
They ftare, they lave, they pump, they swear, they pray :
(Vain efforts!) ftill the battering waves rush in, Implacable, till, delug'd by the foam,
The ship finks found'ring in the vast abyss.
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