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Eo fir him from his traunce it was not eath,
And his half-open'deyne he shut ftraitway;
He led, I wot, the softest way to death,
And taught withouten pain and Atrife to yield the breathe

Of limbs enormous, but withal unsound,
Soft-swoln and pale, here lay the Hydropfy ::
Unwieldy man! with belly monstrous round,
For ever fed with watery supply :
For ftill he drank, and yet he ftill was dry.
And moping here did Hypochondria fet,
Mother of Spleen, in robes of various dye,
Who vexed was full oft' with ugly fit,
And some her frantic deem'd, and some her deem'd a wito

A lady proud she was, of ancient blood,
Yet oft' her fear her pride made crouchen low ;
She felt, or fancy'd, in her fluttering mood,
All the diseases which the spittles know,
And fought all phyfic which the shops bestow,
And fill new leaches and new drugs would try,
Her humour ever wavering to and fro ;
For sometimes she would laugh, and sometimes cry,.
Then sudden waxed wroth, and all the knew not why.

Faft by her side a lifless maiden pin'd,
With aching head, and squeamish heart-burnings;
Pale, bloated, cold, she seem'd to hate mankind,
Yet lov'd in fecret all forbidden things.
And here the Tertian shakes his chilling wings :


The sleepless Gout here counts the crowing cocks ; A wolf now gnaws him, now a serpent ftings ; While Apoplexy cramm’d Intemperance knocks : Down to the ground at once, as butcher felleth ox,


The Knight of Arts and Industry,
And his atchievements fair,
That by his Cafle's overthrow
Secur'd and, crowned were.


ESCAP'D the Calle of the fire of Singa

Ah! where shall I so sweet a dwelling sind ?
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 strain,
Of doleful note, alas !" remains behind :
I must now fing of pleasure turn'd to pain,
And of the false enchanter Indolence complain..

Is there no patron to protect the Muse,
And fence for her Parnassus' barren soil ?
To every labour its reward accrues,
And they are sure of bread who swink and moil ;
But a fell tribe th’ Aonian hive despoil,


As ruthless wasps oft' rob the painful bee :
Thus while the laws not guard that noblest toil.
Ne for the Muses other meed decree,
They praised are alone, and starve right merrily,

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,
Thro’ which Aurora shews her brightening face :
You cannot bar


constant feet to trace The woods and lawns, by, living stream, at eve : Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, And I their toys

great children leave :
Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave...

Come then, my Muse! and raise a bolder song ;;
Come, lig no more upon the bed of sloth,;,
Dragging the lazy. languid line along, bino
Fond to begin, but still to finish loath,
Thy half-writ scrolls all caten by the moth::
Arise, and sing that generous imp of fame,
Who with the fons of Softness nobly wroth,
To sweep away this human lumber came,
Or in a chosen few to rouse the slumbering flames,

to the


In Fairy-land there liv'd a knight of old.,'
Of feature stern, Salvaggio well yclep’d,
A rough unpolish'd man, robuft and bold,
But wond'rous poor: he neither sow'd nor reap'd,
Ne stores in summer for cold winter heap'd ;

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In hunting all his days away he wore ;
Now scorch'd by June, now in November steep'd,
Now pinch'd by biting January fore,
He still in woods pursu'd the libbard and the boar,

As he one morning, long before the dawn,
Prick'd thro' the forest to dislodge 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 wintry fray
Did to a lonely cot his steps decoy ;
There, up to earn the needments of the day,
He found Dame Poverty, nor fair nor coy ;
Her he compress’d, and fill'd her with a lusty boy.

Amid the green-wood fhade this boy was bred,
And grew at last a knight of muckel 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 tasteful well-earn’d food the sylvan game,
Or the brown fruit with which the woodlands teem :
The same to him glad summer or the winter breme.

So pass’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 forest 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 soil and rule the crook ;
Ne did the sacred Nine disdain a gentle look.

Of fertile genius him they nurtur'd well,
In every fcience and in every art.
By which mankind the thoughtless brutes excel,
That can or use, or joy, or grace, impart,
Disclosing all the powers of head and heart :
Ne were the goodly exercises fparid,
That brace the nerves, or make the limbs alert,
And mix elastic force with firmness hard :
Was never knight on ground mote be with him compar'd.

Sometimes, with early morn, he mounted gay
The hunter-steed, exulting o'er the dale,
And drew the roseate breath of orient day :
Sometimes, retiring to the secret vale,
Yclad in steel, and bright with burnish'd mail,
He strain'd the bow, or toss’d the founding spear ;
Or darting on the goal, outstripp'd the gale ;
Or wheel'd the chariot in its mid-career;
Or ftrenuous wrestled hard with many a tough compeer.

At other times he pry'd thro’ Nature's store,
Whate'er she in th' ethereal 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,


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