[
HUMAN
HAPPINESS
;
OR
THE
SCEPTIC
.
A
POEM
,
IN
SIX
CANTOS
.
]
CANTO
I.
ONCE
on
a
time
two
certain
men
,
No
matter
much
for
where
and
when
;
(
Sir
Thomas
one
,
plain
William
t'other
,
A
second
cousin
by
the
mother
;
Something
between
a
friend
and
servant
,
Of
titles
and
respects
observant
;
)
Were
got
in
philosophic
chat
,
Of
pro
and
con
,
and
this
and
that
;
Concerning
man
,
his
occupations
,
Pursuits
and
pleasures
,
plagues
and
passions
:
The
first
of
whom
this
doctrine
vented
,
NO
MAN
WAS
EVER
YET
CONTENTED
.
The
Knight
,
who
held
th'
affirmative
,
If
we
may
babbling
Fame
believe
,
Tho'
no
great
scholar
,
knew
your
Greek
A
,
Alpha
,
and
so
forth
,
to
Omega
;
Had
fables
read
of
beasts
and
birds
,
Some
reason
spoke
,
and
many
words
;
Saw
cause
and
consequence
combin'd
,
And
watch'd
the
emotions
of
the
mind
:
Was
held
,
in
short
,
for
one
of
those
,
Who
know
their
navel
from
their
nose
;
And
,
tho'
he
had
not
read
Confucius
,
Could
feel
if
pinch'd
by
old
or
new
shoes
.
The
other
,
whom
we
William
christen'd
,
Spoke
much
the
loudest
when
he
listen'd
.
In
many
cases
men
of
sense
Know
silence
is
good
eloquence
;
And
he
who
means
to
keep
his
patron
,
Must
unmolested
let
him
chatter
on
;
Must
patient
sit
,
and
hear
his
quoth-ing
,
And
get
prefer'd
for
saying
nothing
.
For
your
dependant
,
like
your
pointer
,
Should
neither
tongue
nor
limb
nor
joint
stir
,
But
,
all
attentive
,
crouch
and
watch
,
Obedient
ev'ry
signal
catch
,
'Till
you've
discharg'd
your
Wit
;
—
sure
token
He
then
may
wag
his
tail
and
open
.
William
was
but
a
coadjutor
,
Sir
Thomas
was
chief
prolocutor
.
He
,
half
in
earnest
,
half
in
jest
,
As
uppermost
ideas
prest
,
Emotions
various
could
provoke
;
—
Read
how
he
thought
,
and
what
he
spoke
.
I
say
,
friend
William
,
nay
I
swear
,
The
world's
not
worth
a
wise
man's
care
;
Not
worth
,
though
you
hold
life
a
blessing
,
Fatigue
of
dressing
and
undressing
:
Not
worth
,
believe
me
,
honest
Will
,
The
pain
of
swallowing
a
pill
.
Nay
,
life
is
,
and
I
think
the
figure
Will
give
my
argument
some
vigor
,
A
dream
of
phantasies
and
lies
,
Which
no
man
wakes
from
till
he
dies
:
Or
rather
,
still
to
speak
profounder
,
From
which
he
wakes
by
sleeping
sounder
:
A
nauseous
draught
that's
never
swallow'd
,
Or
by
succeeding
potions
follow'd
,
An
everlasting
,
bitter
bolus
;
Disguis'd
to
cheat
,
or
to
condole
us
:
So
,
William
,
till
you're
laid
in
hearse
,
I
lie
not
,
tho'
I
speak
in
verse
,
You'll
have
some
loathsome
pois'nous
pill
,
That
shall
disgust
your
palate
still
.
Pray
,
tell
me
,
what's
this
boasted
man
,
But
some
boy's
top
,
or
vixen's
fan
?
By
passion
flirted
,
torn
,
and
hurl'd
,
And
spun
and
whipt
about
the
world
;
This
way
and
that
,
now
there
now
here
,
Set
up
and
lash'd
by
Hope
and
Fear
;
For
some
new
gewgaw
ever
panting
,
Enjoying
nothing
,
all
things
wanting
;
Never
content
with
drink
and
meat
,
Sufficient
for
himself
to
eat
,
But
all
he
can
monopolizes
,
And
picks
and
culls
and
gormandizes
,
Then
wallows
in
th'
exhaustless
slough
,
Yet
ne'er
suspects
he
has
enough
;
Has
something
further
to
desire
,
If
yeoman
now
,
he'd
next
be
'
Squire
;
When
'
Squire
a
Lord
,
when
Lord
a
King
,
When
that
why
he'd
be
every
thing
!
Would
grasp
the
globe
,
and
for
a
socket
Compress
and
put
it
in
his
pocket
.
But
could
he
all
things
thus
command
,
Chang'd
into
stone
,
he'd
lifeless
stand
,
By
Vis
Inertiae's
magic
wand
.
For
only
can
the
Puppet
move
,
Play'd
by
the
wire
of
dear
self-love
;
When
It
some
pleasure
would
obtain
,
Or
when
'twould
run
away
from
pain
.
They
make
It
caper
,
simple
Fool
,
Like
elephant
at
dancing-school
;
Pain
heats
the
floor
,
and
flogs
like
Beadle
,
While
Madam
Pleasure
plays
the
fiddle
.
Shew
me
the
man
,
or
small
or
great
,
With
kingdoms
,
or
without
estate
;
A
buyer
,
seller
,
loser
,
winner
,
Philosopher
,
or
saint
,
or
sinner
,
No
matter
for
his
youth
or
age
,
Whether
he's
simple
or
he's
sage
,
Of
temp'rate
or
of
torrid
region
,
Or
what
his
colour
or
religion
;
Shew
me
the
man
,
throughout
the
earth
,
Who
,
'tween
his
burial
and
his
birth
,
Could
truly
say
he
did
possess
A
day
of
perfect
happiness
.
William
,
observe
,
I
mean
to
prove
Our
minds
are
so
dispos'd
to
rove
,
So
much
is
Fancy
giv'n
to
gadding
,
For
this
thing
or
for
that
still
madding
,
Impetuous
after
some
new
toy
,
She
never
gives
you
time
t'
enjoy
What
God
and
Industry
have
sent
,
But
makes
your
life
continual
Lent
;
So
eager
is
she
in
pursuit
,
She
plucks
and
throws
away
the
fruit
;
Or
say
she
should
sit
still
awhile
,
For
half
an
hour
,
or
half
a
mile
,
'Tis
not
her
nature
to
be
quiet
;
And
,
so
capricious
is
her
diet
,
A
go-cart
child
,
or
woman
breeding
,
Is
not
more
whimsical
in
feeding
;
Nor
can
your
wheedling
,
or
your
flogging
,
Keep
her
consistent
in
her
progging
.
Quoth
Will
,
Sir
Thomas
,
how
shall
I
To
such
sound
arguments
reply
?
Your
oratory
is
so
good
,
I
think
it
cannot
be
withstood
;
Yet
,
something
which
your
Worship
said
Started
a
hint
,
if
'tis
not
fled
,
Which
I'll
pursue
,
under
correction
,
And
not
by
way
of
contradiction
;
I
were
an
ass
to
think
of
that
—
Your
Worship's
words
come
in
so
pat
,
Your
figures
fall
so
very
thick
,
Like
plumbs
in
pudding
,
Sir
,
they
stick
;
You've
such
abundant
rhetoric
You've
learnt
by
rote
all
Aristotle
.
I
say
then
life
is
like
a
bottle
,
Which
,
when
uncork'd
,
is
full
of
liquor
That
may
be
emptied
slow
or
quicker
,
In
gentle
streams
,
or
rude
inflations
,
Impell'd
by
soft
or
boist'rous
passions
.
This
bottle
,
likewise
,
may
contain
Bad
vinegar
,
or
good
Champagne
;
(
That
is
,
to
shew
the
figure
fit
,
A
Misanthrope
,
or
man
of
wit
)
Hungary
water
,
fine
and
clear
,
Or
muddy
,
stale
,
and
flat
small-beer
;
Your
subtile
spirits
,
or
your
mighty
,
Your
aqua
fortis
,
aqua
vitae
;
Your
fiery
spirits
,
or
your
placid
,
Your
cordial
,
or
corroding
acid
;
With
many
more
,
that
I
can't
think
of
,
Which
men
and
maids
do
daily
drink
of
.
Whence
I
dare
undertake
to
trace
The
likeness
of
all
human
race
—
And
,
first
,
there's
bawd
and
brandy
face
.
Which
metaphor
more
meaning
holds
Than
the
first
glance
,
perhaps
,
unfolds
;
For
,
I
dare
say
,
you'll
own
,
Sir
Thomas
,
When
lust
and
liquor
overcome
us
,
Tho'
sweet
to
taste
as
barley-sugar
,
When
slily
ta'en
in
hugger-mugger
,
Alike
the
brandy
and
the
bawd
,
Will
man
of
health
and
fame
defraud
.
Hold
,
hold
,
friend
William
,
said
the
Knight
,
Pull
up
your
horse
,
and
take
me
right
:
Tho'
drunkenness
and
fornication
Are
vices
,
past
all
disputation
,
Which
,
when
indulg'd
,
deserve
recision
;
Yet
,
with
Morality's
permission
,
I
sometimes
love
my
thirst
to
quench
,
And
,
sure
,
I
love
a
pretty
wench
!
Better
by
far
that
niggard
Fate
Should
man
at
once
annihilate
,
And
out
of
Nature's
reg'ment
drum
us
,
Than
take
that
first
of
pleasures
from
us
.
Shall
I
,
when
the
kind
turtle's
willing
,
Forego
the
dear
delight
of
billing
?
When
on
my
breast
her
head
reclines
,
And
while
my
eager
arm
entwines
Around
her
slender
yielding
waist
,
Then
,
when
embracing
,
and
embrac'd
;
When
I
behold
,
impatient
grown
,
Her
swelling
bosom
up
and
down
Impassion'd
heave
,
and
pant
,
and
sigh
,
Then
,
when
ten
thousand
transports
lie
Within
her
half-clos'd
liquid
eye
;
Of
pleasure
then
shall
I
be
flam'd
?
No
,
if
I
am
,
may
I
be
d—d
.
In
such
a
dear
,
delightful
season
,
Shall
I
ask
leave
of
madam
Reason
?
A
prim
,
precise
,
fanatic
prude
,
That
bawls
out
rape
if
you
are
rude
;
That
cants
and
whines
,
and
prays
and
preaches
,
And
hates
both
petticoats
and
breeches
;
That
,
with
respect
to
loco-motions
,
Has
such
affected
,
queasy
notions
,
Tho'
mother
Church
should
grant
commission
,
She'd
turn
her
nose
up
at
co-t—n
.
For
my
part
,
I
must
freely
own
,
So
much
have
I
the
flesh
and
bone
Of
father
Adam
in
me
cas'd
,
When
th'
apple's
offer'd
I
must
taste
;
And
'tis
,
indeed
,
my
firm
opinion
You'd
do
the
very
same
,
my
minion
.
For
as
for
Joseph
,
whom
the
Jews
Pretend
th'
Egyptian
did
refuse
,
I
place
it
to
the
lies
o'
th'
nation
,
Or
else
an
error
in
translation
;
Because
,
if
you
will
please
to
look
In
Matthew
,
Chronicles
,
or
Luke
,
You'll
find
,
without
much
pains
or
pother
,
How
fast
these
Jews
begat
each
other
:
And
howsoe'er
't
may
be
revil'd
,
There's
but
one
way
to
get
a
child
.
The
seventh
and
tenth
of
Nehemiah
Will
,
likewise
,
prove
that
man
a
liar
Who
should
pretend
that
th'
Israelites
Forbore
to
celebrate
Love's
rites
;
And
Solomon
,
in
all
his
glory
,
Took
vast
delight
in
rory
tory
;
On
which
he
made
so
sweet
a
song
,
A
man
might
sing
it
all
day
long
.
Again
,
friend
William
,
know
we
not
,
How
sons
and
daughters
were
begot
By
Isaac
,
Abraham
,
and
Lot
?
And
,
cntre
nous
,
if
I
may
hint
What
may
be
each
day
read
in
print
,
'Twas
sometimes
done
,
to
make
it
snugger
,
In
your
said
way
of
hugger
mugger
;
For
brother
,
sister
,
father
,
daughter
,
Would
eat
a
cherry
,
if
chops
did
water
.
It
was
by
this
kind
of
homogeny
King
Priam
had
so
vast
a
progeny
;
And
have
not
all
succeeding
ages
Follow'd
th'
example
of
these
sages
?
In
short
,
the
business
must
be
done
,
Or
how
should
father
come
by
son
?
And
,
since
it
can't
be
done
by
proxy
,
Duke
must
have
Dutchess
,
or
a
doxy
.
Were
these
things
held
in
persecution
,
'Twould
overturn
the
Constitution
;
For
how
can
he
be
call'd
a
free
man
Who's
not
allow'd
to
have
a
leman
?
William
,
who
found
he'ad
trod
o'
th'
corns
Of
Letchery
,
drew
in
his
horns
;
And
,
while
Sir
Thomas
gave
the
rein
,
Wholly
salacious
,
half
profane
,
To
this
his
twittle
twattle
vein
,
Knowing
his
humour
to
a
hair
,
Friend
William
took
a
different
air
▪
And
often
simper'd
at
the
joke
Ere
it
was
understood
,
or
spoke
:
And
,
for
he
knew
'twould
please
the
Knight
,
At
certain
places
laugh'd
outright
;
Then
,
when
the
orator
had
spun
His
wit
,
as
far
as
it
would
run
,
Reply'd
,
in
recantation
quaint
,
I
don't
pretend
,
Sir
,
I'm
a
saint
.
No
,
if
you
did
,
rejoin'd
the
Knight
,
You'd
be
a
scoundrel
hypocrite
.
Nor
are
there
many
people
fonder
Than
I
,
said
Will
,
of
double
entendre
;
Provided
it
be
done
quite
clean
,
And
fools
can't
find
out
what
you
mean
.
Your
Worship
has
that
happy
knack
;
You're
decent
,
yet
retain
a
smack
—
You
slily
draw
some
odd
allusion
,
Yet
look
as
grave
as
a
Carthusian
.
And
then
each
hint
so
clean
convey'd
is
,
You're
quite
a
fav'rite
with
the
ladies
:
They
always
love
a
merry
man
,
Who
makes
them
laugh
behind
their
fan
.
Those
whom
your
implications
hit
,
Forgive
the
sin
for
sake
o'
th'
wit
;
Nor
ever
dream
of
rods
in
pickle
,
When
metaphors
their
fancies
tickle
Concerning
things
which
all
folks
dote
on
,
But
yet
which
can't
be
spoke
,
or
wrote
on
,
Except
it
be
the
way
you
wote
on
.
When
Will
thought
proper
thus
to
knuckle
,
The
Knight
,
forthwith
,
began
to
chuckle
;
It
put
him
in
a
merry
mood
,
To
find
his
wit
was
understood
:
Then
strait
,
with
jocund
heart
and
phrase
,
Retorted
back
friend
William's
praise
.
For
,
though
he
wanted
not
for
sense
,
He
,
like
his
neighbours
,
could
dispense
With
all
the
flattery
folks
could
spare
,
And
more
,
indeed
,
than
was
his
snare
.
I've
often
said
,
both
here
and
hence
,
Cousin
,
you've
more
than
common
sense
;
Tho'
faith
,
I
cannot
chuse
but
smile
,
And
well
I
may
,
to
think
that
while
After
Miss
Tickle-tail
we
ran
,
The
theme
on
which
we
first
began
Is
so
far
lost
,
in
this
digression
We
must
snuff
hard
to
scent
the
question
.
Howe'er
,
I'm
glad
our
evagation
,
With
these
free
hints
on
fecundation
,
Are
but
by
way
of
conversation
.
For
,
were
they
meant
t'
appear
in
print
,
Tho'
I
,
instead
of
flesh
,
were
stint
,
I
would
not
feel
the
goose-quill
rod
,
No
,
not
for
fifty
pounds
by
—
.
Which
Critic
would
remorseless
thwack
,
With
iteration
,
on
my
back
.
True
,
Will
replied
;
but
here
you
know
,
Sir
,
These
slips
for
little
or
nothing
go
,
Sir
;
The
present
error's
this
—
your
bent
Has
overturn'd
your
argument
:
You've
prov'd
,
at
least
while
veins
are
sappy
,
We're
very
often
very
happy
.
Thanks
for
the
hint
,
return'd
the
Knight
—
Instead
of
wrong
,
I
find
I'm
right
;
I've
no
digression
made
,
my
friend
,
For
now
most
firmly
I
contend
,
It
to
the
argument
rejoin'd
is
,
Because
,
I
find
,
the
case
in
point
is
;
And
,
though
my
fancy
,
overheated
,
This
as
a
solid
blessing
treated
,
A
very
little
recollection
Will
shew
us
all
its
imperfection
.
Thus
—
what
we
call
the
greatest
pleasure
,
And
value
so
above
all
measure
,
So
small
a
portion
of
our
time
Employs
,
when
even
in
our
prime
,
And
makes
one
look
so
foolish
after
,
Fit
subject
or
of
scorn
or
laughter
;
'Twould
puzzle
a
Grecian
orator
To
prove
it
worthy
living
for
.
Or
,
should
you
urge
,
more
than
in
doing
,
The
pleasure
lies
in
the
pursuing
,
This
,
I
aver
,
doth
most
provoke
us
,
Because
it's
all
meer
hocus
pocus
.
Delights
may
twinkle
in
your
eye
,
Num'rous
as
candles
in
the
sky
;
(
Which
,
your
Astronomers
do
hold
,
Strange
as
it
seems
,
may
all
be
told
)
But
people
find
,
whene'er
they
marry
,
Their
Hymen's
heav'n
not
half
so
starry
.
Ma'am
Venus
,
ever
in
mutation
,
Gives
most
light
at
her
elongation
;
Our
Venus
too
,
without
a
scoff
,
Shines
brightest
when
she's
farthest
off
;
For
Bel
a
wife
,
and
Bel
a
maid
,
Are
opposite
as
light
and
shade
.
Your
women
,
when
in
hopes
of
wivery
,
Appear
as
they
were
carv'd
of
ivory
;
And
,
though
we
see
they
carry
noses
,
They
surely
smell
to
nought
but
roses
;
But
,
when
unloos'd
the
virgin
zone
is
,
Your
alabaster
flesh
and
bone
is
:
Your
maid
of
snow
,
some
short
time
a'ter
,
Melts
into
frothy
muddy
water
.
Will
,
who
the
Knight's
warm
temper
knew
,
Look'd
as
he
thought
the
satire
true
;
But
heard
,
like
Disputant
o'erthrown
,
His
arguments
,
and
b'liev'd
his
own
.
Suppos'd
the
cap
might
fit
a
slattern
,
But
was
no
universal
pattern
;
For
,
from
most
women
he
survey'd
,
Whether
a
widow
,
wife
,
or
maid
,
He
deem'd
their
wit
,
and
form
,
and
features
,
Had
made
them
most
bewitching
creatures
.
CANTO
II
.
QUOTH
William
,
Sir
,
the
question
rests
Concerning
human
happiness
;
The
which
I
think
you
would
deny
That
it
exists
—
I
don't
know
why
—
Especially
when
I
reflect
On
all
the
riches
,
and
respect
,
The
parks
,
the
tenements
,
and
manors
,
The
titles
,
ancestry
,
and
honours
,
With
every
other
worldly
blessing
,
All
which
I
see
you
,
Sir
,
possessing
.
Pshaw
,
William
,
you're
a
simple
tony
,
Because
you're
poor
,
you
think
that
money
Will
exorcise
each
human
evil
,
And
send
it
packing
to
the
Devil
;
That
nothing
could
excite
your
cares
,
But
want
,
or
sickness
,
or
grey
hairs
:
You'll
find
,
friend
William
,
to
your
cost
,
You've
reckon'd
here
without
your
host
.
You
little
know
the
freaks
and
fancies
,
The
ups
and
downs
,
and
pranks
and
prances
Of
Miss
Imagination's
mare
,
When
frisking
forth
to
take
the
air
:
Not
troops
of
witches
,
or
of
fairies
,
Sailing
to
sup
on
dead
man's
gizzard
,
With
Lapland
or
Norwegian
wizard
,
On
broom-sticks
e'er
had
such
vagaries
;
Or
winc'd
and
winnied
,
cut
and
caper'd
,
Half
like
this
Lady
,
when
she's
vapor'd
.
This
,
William
,
as
you
may
divine
,
Is
no
discovery
of
mine
;
'Tis
known
in
every
king's
dominion
,
That
happiness
is
but
opinion
;
But
since
the
subject
has
been
started
,
Somewhat
,
perhaps
,
may
be
imparted
,
Tho'
we
in
whifflng
squalls
do
sail
,
Of
whim
,
or
humour
,
wit
,
or
tale
,
Of
satire
,
argument
,
or
pathos
,
Shall
steer
us
clear
of
quicksand
bathos
.
T'
exemplify
what
I
assert
,
Once
more
to
Fancy
we'll
revert
;
To
Fancy
,
that
capricious
Goddess
,
Who
plays
such
pranks
with
human
bodies
.
You've
read
,
no
doubt
,
for
who
has
not
?
Who
reads
not
Pope
?
Or
has
forgot
,
She
once
suppos'd
herself
a
pot
?
(
In
which
a
Lady
made
her
tea
,
Or
slily
kept
her
ratafia
)
This
arm
a
kimbo
,
that
stretch'd
out
,
She
call'd
the
handle
and
the
spout
;
And
most
devoutly
begg'd
and
pray'd
Not
to
be
wash'd
by
careless
maid
,
Lest
she
,
in
action
of
ablution
,
Should
suffer
total
dissolution
;
Deeming
,
full
sure
,
a
broken
pate
,
Were
mortal
in
that
fragile
state
.
Another
time
,
as
authors
tell
ye
,
She
call'd
herself
a
currant
jelly
;
And
squatted
,
crouching
,
quivering
,
quaking
,
Imploring
in
most
piteous
taking
,
When
haunch
of
ven'son
chanc'd
to
meet
her
,
No
hungry
Alderman
might
eat
her
.
A
third
strange
whimwham
,
pray
Sir
note
,
She
once
crept
down
a
cobler's
throat
,
And
there
the
curst
,
fantastic
vixen
The
simple
fellow
play'd
her
tricks
on
;
Swearing
,
in
phrases
most
unhallow'd
,
Poor
Crispin
had
his
lapstone
swallow'd
;
And
press'd
so
hard
upon
his
liver
,
And
took
such
oaths
,
good
God
forgive
her
,
And
told
such
lies
,
all
to
convince
The
brain
of
our
distemper'd
prince
;
That
,
had
he
been
or
Turk
or
Jew
,
He
must
have
thought
the
thing
were
true
.
Another
time
,
as
I've
heard
say
,
She
swore
she
was
a
truss
of
hay
,
And
told
,
in
wailings
and
alasses
,
How
she
was
prey'd
upon
by
asses
;
Tho'
here
,
some
add
,
this
piece
of
fun
,
Was
but
contriv'd
for
sake
o'th'
pun
.
But
I
despair
to
think
of
half
The
tricks
she
acts
to
make
you
laugh
.
Sometimes
she
mounts
into
the
head
Of
some
poor
wretch
,
before
half
mad
;
There
his
weak
intellect
abuses
,
And
swears
,
by
G—
,
she's
one
o'th'
Muses
;
And
,
tho'
before
he
did
not
know
it
,
Himself
is
,
out
of
doubt
,
a
poet
.
Then
you
shall
see
him
stamp
and
stare
,
And
look
as
wise
as
Moss's
mare
,
And
beat
his
brow
,
and
curse
his
fate
,
And
rub
his
eyes
,
and
scratch
his
pate
,
And
beg
and
pray
his
Polyhymnia
,
To
please
to
grant
a
rhyme
to
chimney
;
Then
strait
unbuttons
he
his
doublet
,
To
hammer
out
unmeaning
couplet
;
About
it
and
about
it
lingers
,
And
counts
his
feet
upon
his
fingers
;
But
tho'
his
thoughts
run
music-ally
,
He
cannot
somehow
make
'em
tally
;
Tho'
fifty
Loves
and
Doves
are
there
,
Not
any
two
of
them
will
pair
.
He
studies
,
dozes
,
twirls
his
thumbs
,
And
when
,
at
last
,
the
butter
comes
,
Enraptur'd
at
the
lucky
hit
,
And
all
amaz'd
at
his
own
wit
,
Without
the
help
of
toe
or
tarsus
,
He's
at
the
top
of
Mount
Parnassus
.
Thus
,
whilst
this
most
insiduous
jade
The
simple
fellow
would
persuade
That
he's
the
only
man
i'
th'
moon
,
And
all
the
world
shall
know
it
soon
;
That
she'll
provide
him
better
forage
,
And
give
him
plumbs
to
put
in's
porridge
;
Likewise
,
or
else
it
shall
be
curst
hard
,
Will
send
him
mutton
to
his
mustard
;
That
woodcock
,
ortolan
,
and
chicken
Are
ready
roasted
for
his
picking
;
Thus
,
while
he
waddles
up
Fame's
ladder
,
As
empty
and
as
big
as
bladder
,
Inflated
and
possess'd
by
legion
,
And
thinks
he
soon
shall
reach
the
region
,
Where
he'll
p-ss
down
,
while
they
adore
him
,
On
all
that
ever
went
before
him
,
Instead
of
finding
he's
more
glorious
Than
Bantam
King
,
of
fame
notorious
;
The
d
—
d
,
insidious
,
sly
suborner
Hath
pill'ried
him
in
poet's
corner
.
Sometimes
the
wicked
hussey
steals
Into
the
head
,
or
rather
heels
,
Of
a
dull
cit
,
or
weak
patrician
,
And
,
lo
!
behold
a
politician
!
See
how
he
runs
about
the
town
,
Cries
this
man
up
,
and
that
man
down
;
Gives
tongue
and
toe
eternal
action
,
The
busiest
loudest
tool
of
Faction
;
Harangues
at
taverns
,
mounts
the
table
,
With
piteous
phiz
,
prognosticable
,
Foretels
a
fact
—
by
way
of
fable
;
(
He
had
it
from
a
wise
Phry-gian
)
As
how
an
ass
may
spurn
a
lion
.
Thus
makes
his
senseless
hearers
stare
,
In
hopes
next
night
to
fill
the
chair
.
Thus
,
having
first
pull'd
up
his
breeches
,
Unloads
most
lamentable
speeches
From
belly
warehouse
,
where
they
lie
Pack'd
up
and
stow'd
,
all
cut
and
dry
;
Then
wipes
his
eyes
,
and
eke
his
nose
,
And
weeps
his
bleeding
country's
woes
;
For
if
so
be
,
as
how
,
because
—
He's
one
o'th'
guardians
of
her
laws
;
And
then
the
beetle-brain'd
rebuker
Abjures
all
filthy
lust
of
lucre
;
And
swears
so
fervently
he's
honest
,
He
almost
thinks
himself
in
earnest
;
Then
prophesies
,
like
Jeremiah
,
Till
he
makes
all
his
hearers
cry
ah
!
Tells
how
the
people
are
abus'd
,
What
places
,
pensions
,
he
refus'd
;
Of
trade
declin'd
,
supplies
mispent
,
How
farmers
cannot
pay
their
rent
;
How
,
what
is
most
to
be
lamented
,
Not
one
in
fifty's
represented
;
How
'tis
our
duty
to
combine
,
T'
eradicate
or
countermine
Prerogative
,
since
all
may
see
Men
who
are
govern'd
can't
be
free
;
How
,
'mong
a
people
wise
and
brave
,
The
King
should
be
the
only
slave
;
How
,
might
he
carry
on
the
farce
,
He'd
strip
him
bare
as
a
bird's
a
—
se
Of
sceptres
,
crowns
,
and
glories
garish
,
And
send
him
packing
to
his
parish
.
Then
vents
he
mouthfuls
of
big
breath
,
Of
traitors
,
Tower-hill
and
death
;
So
many
necks
has
he
to
stretch
,
You'd
think
th'
infatuated
wretch
Were
Lord
Chief
Justice
—
or
Jack
Ketch
.
Not
Welch
itself
,
by
Welchmen
utter'd
,
Was
e'er
with
more
vehemence
sputter'd
;
His
words
so
singe
you
as
they
sally
,
You'd
swear
he'd
wildfire
in
his
belly
;
Or
that
the
hissing
,
quacking
gander
Maintain'd
,
incog
,
a
salamander
.
But
should
you
from
these
fumes
of
reason
Subtract
hems
,
epithets
,
and
treason
;
Of
all
this
wond'rous
waste
of
brains
You'd
quickly
find
that
nought
remains
.
Friend
William
,
didst
thou
e'er
behold
A
flock
of
sheep
,
pent
in
a
fold
?
And
didst
thou
see
,
when
thou
wert
gazing
,
The
shepherd
turn
them
out
a
grazing
?
If
so
,
thou
couldst
not
chuse
but
note
How
stupidly
,
within
their
cote
,
Like
wond'ring
clown
with
—
oh
la-a
!
These
sheep
have
stood
and
bleated
Ba
!
And
how
they
wanted
,
'
mid
their
moping
,
The
instinct
to
begin
eloping
;
How
they'd
not
stir
a
single
foot
,
'Till
crook
or
cur
had
set
'em
to't
.
But
,
when
the
first
had
pass'd
the
hurdle
,
A
man
of
Gotham
might
as
soon
Forth
from
a
fish-pond
rake
the
moon
As
keep
them
in
their
twiggen
girdle
.
William
,
just
so
,
your
patriot
sheep
Will
from
their
torpid
stupor
leap
,
And
bound
o'er
every
proper
fence
Of
law
,
of
loyalty
,
and
sense
,
Soon
as
some
knave
,
adroit
and
knowing
,
Has
set
the
stupid
flock
agoing
.
This
,
William
,
give
me
leave
to
say
,
Of
all
the
whims
in
Fancy's
pate
,
Will
most
to
wickedness
betray
Those
whom
it
shall
contaminate
.
And
yet
,
methinks
,
I've
heard
you
plead
,
Said
Will
,
as
tho'
it
were
your
creed
,
With
wond'rous
force
of
elocution
,
In
favour
of
the
constitution
;
As
tho'
you
would
gain
proselytes
,
To
struggle
for
the
people's
rights
;
Have
heard
you
vow
,
with
iteration
,
Indeed
,
with
awful
imprecation
,
To
see
them
violated
,
rather
,
With
your
own
hand
,
you'd
stab
your
father
!
Ay
,
quick
return'd
the
impetuous
Knight
▪
May
plagues
and
perils
infinite
,
May
ev'ry
pest
Hell
could
supply
O'erwhelm
my
house
and
me
,
if
I
,
Tho'
I
detest
the
horrid
fact
,
Would
not
this
tragedy
enact
E'er
see
,
—
howe'er
th'
accursed
crime
were
mourn'd
,
E'er
see
—
the
Constitution
overturn'd
!
But
,
when
a
Monarch
fills
the
throne
,
Whom
even
Faction's
self
must
own
Is
anxious
still
in
Virtue's
cause
,
And
holds
inviolate
those
laws
,
Which
are
the
comments
of
his
pow'r
;
His
guide
,
his
sword
,
his
shield
,
his
tow'r
;
A
Monarch
merciful
and
just
,
Who
so
reveres
his
sacred
trust
,
That
,
rather
than
o'erstep
the
mound
By
which
he's
circumscrib'd
and
bound
,
He
patient
hears
,
audacious
grown
,
The
traitor's
speech
approach
the
throne
;
Forgets
,
to
gain
his
people's
love
,
Revenge
,
which
Pity
would
approve
;
Feels
the
black
hand
of
Malice
press
With
tenfold
weight
,
nor
seeks
redress
;
But
takes
the
noblest
way
to
Fame
,
Abhorrent
of
the
tyrant's
name
—
When
virtues
such
as
these
preside
,
Shall
I
with
venom'd
tongue
deride
?
Or
labour
,
with
unhallow'd
hand
,
To
sow
dissension
thro'
the
land
?
Shall
I
become
a
nation's
scourge
,
With
frontless
,
damn'd
ambition
urge
An
ignorant
and
headstrong
rage
,
And
every
knave
and
fool
engage
,
To
bawl
for
me
,
and
spread
sedition
,
Regardless
of
mankind's
perdition
,
And
,
for
some
partial
,
private
good
,
Plunge
thus
a
weeping
world
in
blood
;
Tear
the
poor
peasant
from
his
home
,
And
send
the
widow
to
the
tomb
;
Nations
make
waste
and
desolate
,
That
once
were
happy
,
rich
,
and
great
?
Oh
!
curst
!
oh
,
doubly
curst
,
be
he
,
Who
,
thus
,
from
human
pity
free
,
Disclaiming
Nature's
social
ties
,
Deaf
to
a
suffering
people's
cries
,
Sinks
millions
,
that
himself
may
rise
!
Gives
War
and
Devastation
birth
,
And
hurls
Destruction
o'er
the
earth
.
My
heart's
appall'd
!
My
blood
runs
cold
!
Methinks
,
affrighted
,
I
behold
Insatiate
Rage
,
by
Discord
led
,
Where
Faction
shakes
her
snaky
head
!
The
yell
of
Death
howls
in
my
ear
!
Lo
!
brother's
blood
their
hands
besmear
!
Their
garments
dy'd
in
matron's
gore
,
By
children
slain
whom
once
they
bore
!
Vain
are
the
virgin's
streaming
eyes
,
The
groans
of
age
,
and
orphan's
cries
;
No
help
the
mother's
shrieks
obtain
,
The
kneeling
wife
implores
in
vain
;
Where
Rape
defil'd
her
sacred
bed
,
Her
husband
mangled
lies
,
and
dead
!
No
tears
could
stay
th'
impending
blow
,
Fell
Discord
mocks
at
human
woe
;
Remorseless
gives
the
fatal
stab
,
And
views
the
vital
fountain
ebb
;
Beholds
the
writhing
infant
die
,
Hears
Nature
utter
her
last
cry
;
Reviews
the
havoc
she
has
made
,
Her
prowess
,
arm
,
and
clotted
blade
;
Exults
,
recounts
each
mortal
thrust
,
Each
act
of
carnage
and
of
lust
;
With
horrid
pleasure
sucks
the
parting
breath
,
Then
flies
to
seek
new
scenes
of
blood
and
death
!
These
are
thy
deeds
,
from
thee
they
sprung
;
—
Thy
ranc'rous
heart
and
clam'rous
tongue
,
Oh
Faction
!
most
accursed
siend
!
War
,
Discord
,
Slaughter
,
Rage
conven'd
;
Bade
them
,
their
hellish
flags
unfurl'd
,
Proclaim
thee
Mistress
of
the
World
.
Oh
William
,
could
a
single
hand
But
drive
that
Daemon
from
the
land
—
Were
it
—
but
ah
,
the
wish
is
vain
,
A
tyrant's
veins
the
steel
may
drain
,
A
Demagogue
is
never
slain
;
For
while
the
fire
funereal
flashes
,
A
hundred
rise
from
forth
his
ashes
.
But
let
us
quit
the
dismal
theme
;
'Tis
painful
William
in
th'
extreme
:
This
,
only
,
I
intreat
you'll
note
,
Not
one
example
I
can
quote
More
firmly
proves
my
first
position
—
That
is
,
the
hapless
inhibition
Which
Fancy
lays
,
or
more
or
less
,
On
what's
call'd
human
happiness
.
When
Passions
,
violent
as
these
,
Once
on
the
restless
bosom
seize
,
Labours
,
vexations
,
cares
,
and
fears
Increase
,
still
,
with
encreasing
years
.
CANTO
III
.
NOW
let
us
once
again
proceed
,
With
Madam
Fancy
,
and
her
breed
Of
airy
visions
in
the
brain
:
But
this
much
let
me
first
explain
;
I
can't
perhaps
at
all
times
stay
The
application
to
convey
,
If
with
the
subject
I
should
wax
warm
.
—
Take
this
,
then
,
as
a
general
axiom
:
There's
not
an
instance
I
shall
cite
,
Of
Miss
Imagination's
flight
,
But
tends
to
prove
how
,
more
or
less
,
She
cheats
us
of
our
happiness
.
Remember
this
,
and
be
aware
on't
,
For
tho'
it
often
seem
apparent
,
That
she
on
some
delight
is
feeding
,
Or
is
with
joy
and
pleasure
breeding
,
She
swells
,
as
presently
you'll
find
,
Either
with
water
,
or
with
wind
;
Or
else
,
with
many
a
strange
contortion
,
Brings
forth
an
embrio
in
abortion
.
The
only
comfort
she
is
skill'd
in
Is
that
fine
art
call'd
Castle-building
:
Pursuing
which
,
sometimes
,
she'll
rise
Ten
thousand
leagues
above
the
skies
;
And
,
ere
you'd
empty
Mah'met's
pitcher
,
Find
fifty
thousand
whims
bewitch
her
;
There
will
the
busy
brain-sick
fool
Among
th'
immortals
place
her
stool
:
But
,
on
so
ticklish
a
foundation
,
The
slightest
jog
of
pain
,
or
passion
,
Strait
tumbles
down
my
anti-mentor
,
Ten
thousand
leagues
below
the
center
.
Should
you
demand
the
reason
why
She
sinks
so
low
,
and
soars
so
high
,
Is
strong
yet
feeble
,
quick
yet
slow
,
I'll
tell
you
,
William
—
when
I
know
.
Anon
,
invited
by
the
weather
,
She'll
perch
upon
an
ostrich
feather
;
Whence
she'll
persuade
,
with
wheedling
air
,
Some
maid
to
pin
it
in
her
hair
:
And
there
,
to
pay
her
thanks
and
duty
,
She
sits
and
forms
the
line
of
beauty
;
Waves
,
curtsies
,
nods
,
and
bows
,
to
please
Each
well-dress'd
passenger
she
sees
;
Hoping
to
find
that
man
in
dis-tress
Who
does
not
long
to
kiss
her
mistress
.
And
,
should
the
dear
bewitching
maid
But
take
her
to
a
Masquerade
,
Or
jig
her
tail
down
at
a
Court
dance
,
She
swells
to
see
her
own
importance
!
The
posture
which
you
put
your
lip
in
Tells
me
you
think
you've
caught
me
tripping
:
That
,
vice
versa
to
my
plan
,
I'm
proving
now
my
goose
a
swan
.
But
,
though
you
think
you're
Signior
Sly-boots
,
I'm
coming
with
a
pair
of
dry
puts
.
And
,
first
,
friend
William
,
pray
declare
,
Had
Fancy
coax'd
the
gentle
fair
Some
social
duty
to
sustain
,
Instead
of
bidding
her
be
vain
And
ogle
ev'ry
petit
maitre
,
Had
not
her
pleasure
been
much
greater
?
Again
—
pray
did
you
never
find
,
From
observations
on
your
mind
,
When
you've
been
dup'd
into
applause
,
By
crowns
and
sceptres
made
of
straws
,
Have
ran
to
seize
,
hot
and
impetuous
,
Some
whiz-gig
of
an
ignis-fatuus
—
Have
call'd
a
council
on
your
cloaths
,
And
plac'd
a
patch
beside
your
nose
,
That
you
might
rival
certain
beaus
—
To
prove
yourself
the
drunkard's
match
,
Have
clapt
and
chorus'd
ev'ry
catch
—
And
roar'd
,
and
been
damnation
jolly
,
Lest
you
had
been
outdone
in
folly
—
When
back
conducted
,
by
reflection
,
To
reason
,
and
to
recollection
;
I
say
,
with
most
abundant
gall
,
Abjur'd
you
not
the
midnight
brawl
?
Deplor'd
you
not
your
time
thus
fled
,
At
ev'ry
throbbing
of
your
head
?
And
curst
,
in
ev'ry
various
shape
,
The
fops
and
fools
you
strove
to
ape
?
While
strenuous
,
thus
,
Sir
Thomas
pleads
,
Will
smiles
assent
—
the
Knight
proceeds
.
Sometimes
our
minx
,
of
grandeur
vain
,
Is
seated
in
a
lady's
train
,
While
fops
behind
,
and
fops
before
,
Surround
,
attend
her
,
and
adore
;
And
,
with
a
civet
cat's
assistance
,
The
rabble
keep
at
awful
distance
.
There
,
like
our
Monarch
,
heav'n
bless
him
,
When
Common-council-men
address
him
,
She
hears
with
dignity
their
speeches
,
With
mildness
answers
each
demand
,
Then
strait
presents
her
lady's
hand
,
And
bids
them
kiss
,
and
grow
like
leeches
.
Or
,
rather
,
like
,
with
cannon's
rouse
,
The
King
proceeding
to
the
House
:
For
thus
,
with
mien
majestical
,
She
spreads
the
flowing
garment
round
,
And
,
as
it
slowly
sweeps
the
ground
,
Is
drawn
in
state
along
the
Mall
.
But
if
,
her
reason
to
recall
,
A
little
rain
should
chance
to
fall
,
Asham'd
of
her
fantastic
feats
,
She
shrinks
,
and
hides
her
in
the
plaits
:
Most
cursedly
chagrin'd
to
hear
,
Miss
Daggletail
hiss
in
her
ear
.
Oft
,
with
ad
inquirendum
big
,
She
squats
down
on
a
Judge's
wig
,
And
hears
,
with
most
affected
patience
,
Rejoinders
bully
replications
;
Thinks
it
behoveth
her
to
stay
,
Tho'
'twere
'till
resurrection
day
,
Most
solemnly
to
hear
'em
argu
'
on
—
But
,
tir'd
at
last
of
law
and
jargon
,
She
tells
my
Lord
its
very
late
,
Or
,
tickling
,
makes
him
scratch
his
pate
,
And
shake
his
well-fill'd
wig
about
her
;
Then
skulks
off
in
a
shower
of
powder
.
In
graceful
shape
,
you'll
sometimes
see
her
,
Pendant
at
Miss
or
Madam's
ear
,
Sit
bragging
how
she
has
the
art
To
deck
that
unimportant
part
;
To
prove
which
farther
still
she
goes
,
And
bobs
about
a
Banyan's
nose
:
But
,
if
a
cold
should
seize
her
vassal
,
And
rheum
should
run
down
sewer
nasal
,
No
dog
more
simple
phyz
e'er
put
on
,
When
he
was
bid
beware
of
mutton
.
Of
this
see
more
,
if
you
desire
,
Cantus
Secundus
,
Matthew
Prior
,
Who
,
to
his
most
harmonious
lyre
,
Sang
something
like
the
present
song
,
And
sang
so
various
,
sweet
,
and
long
,
I'm
troubled
,
with
my
notes
jejune
,
To
keep
from
strumming
Matthew's
tune
.
Observe
,
my
friend
,
before
my
next
Remark
,
I
chuse
to
change
my
text
;
I
chuse
to
call
our
old
parole
,
IMAGINATION
,
now
,
THE
SOUL
.
The
dictionary
search
,
you'll
find
SOUL
is
synonimous
to
MIND
;
And
MIND
is
with
IMAGINATION
The
same
thing
held
,
throughout
the
nation
.
And
seeing
,
Will
,
I
speak
in
rhyme
Of
subjects
vulgar
and
sublime
,
I'll
wrest
the
word
,
or
phrase
,
to
my
sense
,
That
is
—
I'll
take
poetic
licence
.
I
tergiverse
,
as
you
shall
see
,
But
let
that
rest
'tween
you
and
me
,
To
introduce
a
similie
.
The
body's
an
ingenious
house
;
The
soul
—
a
sort
of
little
mouse
,
That
through
some
chink
,
or
cranny
,
enters
,
And
seldom
into
day-light
ventures
;
But
duly
takes
her
midnight
ramble
,
In
zig-zag
motions
—
skimble
skamble
:
Is
found
nocturnally
eloping
,
Whene'er
the
door
(
the
mouth
)
is
open
;
And
scuds
and
gibbers
in
the
glades
,
To
fright
your
clownish
men
and
maids
;
And
frisks
and
glides
about
the
bed
,
And
often
makes
my
Lady
dread
She
hears
a
thief
—
or
sees
a
sprite
,
And
ring
her
bell
,
and
strike
a
light
;
When
strait
the
cause
of
all
her
fears
Jumps
down
her
throat
,
and
disappears
.
This
mouse
herself
,
both
day
and
night
,
Is
also
often
in
a
fright
;
For
,
not
to
mention
mynheer
rat
,
She
swoons
if
you
should
name
a
cat
.
By
rat
and
cat
,
no
doubt
,
you
ween
;
I
Hope
and
Fear
,
friend
William
,
mean
:
Who
keep
such
watch
,
o'er
madam's
diet
,
She
scarce
can
mump
a
crust
in
quiet
;
But
goes
with
divers
fears
and
pains
to't
,
Although
she's
hid
behind
the
wainscot
.
And
though
the
foe's
not
under
arms
,
She's
always
subject
to
alarms
.
For
why
?
she
oft
has
felt
their
claws
,
When
farthest
,
as
she
deem'd
,
from
paws
;
And
when
she
thought
to
lick
her
chaps
,
Has
many
times
been
caught
in
traps
When
least
she
dreamt
of
such
mishaps
.
CANTO
IV
.
MY
similie
is
at
an
end
;
To
Fancy
we'll
return
,
my
friend
.
Sometimes
she'll
take
it
in
her
head
,
To
sit
and
muse
among
the
dead
;
And
then
,
before
your
eye
could
twinkle
,
She'll
hop
to
th'
charnel-house
,
and
sprinkle
Some
favorite
friend's
unconscious
bones
,
And
hear
again
his
dying
groans
;
And
kiss
his
lips
,
and
catch
his
sighs
,
And
cleanse
his
brow
,
and
close
his
eyes
;
And
wring
her
hands
,
and
rend
her
hair
,
In
all
the
horrors
of
despair
:
As
when
she
caught
his
parting
breath
,
In
the
last
agonies
of
death
.
Nor
are
such
griefs
to
her
ideal
;
With
Fancy
every
thing
is
real
:
Which
gives
occasion
to
your
sceptic
,
Or
,
rather
,
to
herself
,
to
deem
,
From
these
emotions
epileptic
,
That
she
exists
but
in
a
dream
.
That
soul
and
body
,
matter
and
spirit
,
With
all
which
men
think
they
inherit
,
To
which
they
give
such
fond
reception
,
Is
nothing
but
a
meer
deception
.
I
can't
,
said
William
,
I
protest
,
Conceive
such
things
,
except
in
jest
,
Have
ever
enter'd
mortal
head
;
Have
ever
,
yet
,
been
sung
,
or
said
.
Then
,
pray
inform
me
,
by
what
token
,
Sir
,
I
shall
gain
certainty
,
fair
spoken
,
Sir
,
Replied
Sir
Thomas
:
or
what
sign
Shall
bring
conviction
,
friend
of
mine
,
That
I
am
now
with
you
debating
,
And
'gainst
the
post
exonerating
:
Or
,
though
I
think
I
make
it
shake
,
I
shall
not
shortly
start
and
wake
.
Why
,
Sir
,
last
night
,
in
my
first
sleep
,
I
,
at
my
spigot
end
,
did
weep
;
(
Observe
,
when
stomach
too
replete
is
,
I'm
subject
to
your
diabetes
;
Which
,
though
the
bed
it
will
besmear
,
Is
sweeter
than
your
diarrhoea
.
)
I
say
,
I
stood
against
the
wall
,
And
saw
and
heard
the
water
fall
;
It
could
not
be
behind
the
curtain
,
So
well
convinc'd
was
I
,
and
certain
:
But
more
to
prove
it
to
the
million
,
I
wrangled
with
my
own
postillion
,
Dar'd
the
best
man
that
e'er
wore
head
To
prove
that
I
then
p
—
t
the
bed
.
And
yet
,
for
all
my
fending
feats
,
Molly
was
forc'd
to
change
the
sheets
;
At
least
,
so
did
I
after
deem
,
For
so
depos'd
my
waking
dream
.
But
which
was
right
,
or
which
was
wrong
,
To
your
Logicians
doth
belong
,
From
Mr.
Minor
and
Mr.
Major
,
By
consequent
,
or
else
by
wager
,
These
doubts
and
darkness
to
dispel
;
For
I'll
be
d
—
d
if
I
can
tell
.
Again
—
I
dreamt
one
night
before
,
As
I
was
standing
at
my
door
,
A
woman
came
—
a
frightful
figure
—
And
of
a
pistol
held
the
trigger
;
Her
hands
were
bloody
—
she
would
enter
,
And
,
as
I
follow'd
,
to
prevent
her
From
strangling
my
beloved
Nancy
,
She
striding
forward
,
to
my
fancy
,
Just
then
,
as
I
with
fear
was
fainting
,
I
look'd
and
found
her
head
was
wanting
.
And
now
my
courage
had
forsook
me
,
Another
terror
overtook
me
.
Instead
of
Nancy's
massacre
,
I
found
that
I
had
murder'd
her
;
For
,
being
headless
,
it
was
plain
She
had
by
somebody
been
slain
;
So
dreading
to
be
left
i'
th'
lurch
,
I
made
a
skip
to
top
o'
th'
Church
,
And
on
the
steeple
sat
me
down
,
And
laugh'd
,
and
look'd
about
the
town
.
Here
I
was
seiz'd
a-new
with
fright
;
For
,
meditating
on
the
height
,
And
seeing
nothing
on
the
wall
That
I
could
catch
to
save
my
fall
,
I
found
,
by
calculation
true
,
As
I
look'd
down
,
and
took
a
view
,
E'er
I
could
light
in
streets
or
lanes
,
'Twas
odds
that
I
dash'd
out
my
brains
.
Now
for
a
moment
I
forgot
If
I
had
being
,
or
had
not
;
Then
found
myself
upon
my
feet
,
And
walking
up
a
spacious
street
:
But
,
ere
I
could
proceed
much
further
,
Was
taken
up
,
and
hung
for
murder
;
To
Sweeps
and
Sandmen
did
exhibit
A
body
dangling
to
a
gibbet
.
And
now
,
I
was
not
only
vex'd
,
But
,
somehow
,
damnably
perplex'd
,
To
think
,
on
finding
I
was
dead
,
What
I
should
do
to
get
my
bread
;
But
in
the
midst
of
all
this
thrall
,
I
jump'd
from
thence
to
Surgeon's
Hall
:
Where
I
beheld
a
row
of
fellows
,
That
just
were
taken
from
the
gallows
;
Ill-looking
,
ragged
,
vile
companions
,
And
strung
all
round
like
ropes
of
onions
;
By
wires
hung
pendant
,
as
their
wont
is
,
'Tween
os
occipitis
et
frontis
.
And
here
,
instead
of
being
dissected
,
I
see
those
operations
acted
.
My
perinaeum
shrinks
to
note
'em
;
I
clap
my
hand
upon
my
scrotum
,
And
view
,
the
while
my
flesh
doth
quiver
,
Now
this
man's
heart
,
then
that
man's
liver
.
No
mortal
yet
,
by
day
or
night
,
Ever
beheld
more
shocking
sight
.
Yet
they're
alive
,
nor
are
they
screaming
,
But
wrangling
,
singing
,
and
blaspheming
,
From
mouths
that
with
most
ghastly
grin
,
Tobacco
take
,
and
beg
for
gin
.
And
here
,
amidst
this
scene
of
terrors
,
I
feel
insufferable
horrors
;
I
fly
,
oppress'd
with
dreadful
gloom
,
To
every
corner
of
the
room
:
From
this
man
start
,
and
jerk
from
t'other
,
Then
bob
my
back
against
another
Swifter
than
ball
in
Tennis-court
,
'Till
Nature
can
no
more
support
,
But
shrieks
with
violent
agitation
,
And
,
waking
,
says
—
its
suffocation
:
Or
swears
some
fiend
her
rest
was
troubling
,
Some
Night-mare
,
Witch
,
or
glum
Hobgoblin
.
One
other
vision
give
me
leave
,
Among
my
arguments
,
to
weave
.
I
went
one
night
,
about
eleven
,
To
bed
—
or
,
rather
—
went
to
Heaven
.
'Twas
in
the
latter
end
of
spring
,
My
heart
was
light
as
Wood-lark's
wing
;
My
health
was
good
,
my
spirits
better
,
My
mind
without
a
single
fetter
;
By
cares
nor
crosses
was
I
teaz'd
,
Nor
spleen
,
nor
passion
,
on
me
seiz'd
:
I
mean
to
say
,
I
felt
,
just
then
,
What
happiness
is
call'd
,
by
men
.
I
cannot
give
sufficient
cause
,
I
only
know
that
so
it
was
;
And
that
such
feelings
,
as
it
seems
,
Do
gen'rate
most
delightful
dreams
.
I
went
to
bed
,
then
,
thus
dispos'd
,
And
,
as
I
guess
,
not
long
had
doz'd
Before
I
fell
,
by
some
blest
chance
,
Into
a
kind
of
heav'nly
trance
;
Unconscious
I
of
sleep
or
bed
,
No
pillow
now
supports
my
head
,
Nor
bolts
,
nor
bars
,
nor
walls
restrain
,
Nor
heavy
limbs
my
soul
detain
;
But
,
gliding
on
,
by
swift
degrees
,
I
seem
to
be
where'er
I
please
:
I
lightly
leap
o'er
brook
,
or
briar
,
And
step
—
as
far
as
I
desire
.
Anon
,
on
lofty
hill
I
stand
,
View
the
green
corn
,
and
furrow'd
land
;
See
mountain
,
valley
,
wood
and
mead
,
And
shepherd
stray
,
and
cattle
feed
;
And
distant
hills
,
and
waters
spy
,
That
glitter
pleasure
to
the
eye
;
While
the
sweet
landscape
doth
unite
Innumerous
objects
of
delight
.
Then
,
quick
as
thought
,
they
instant
take
The
form
of
an
extensive
lake
,
In
amphitheatre
capacious
,
A
flat
of
waters
,
bright
and
spacious
,
Which
Fancy
quickly
scatters
o'er
With
islands
,
towns
,
and
many
a
shore
,
Where
verdure
smiles
,
and
men
are
seen
,
And
happy
Nature
plays
serene
.
Here
,
while
I
view
the
water's
gleam
,
I
find
myself
amid
the
stream
;
And
,
as
the
gentle
current
glides
,
My
active
thought
my
body
guides
To
ship
or
shore
,
now
there
,
now
here
,
Sportive
and
undisturb'd
by
fear
;
And
,
as
the
waters
me
embrace
,
I
vagrant
roam
from
place
to
place
:
And
,
as
I
lave
each
happy
limb
,
And
strike
,
and
dart
,
and
lightly
skim
,
I
think
,
good
God
!
how
well
I
swim
!
While
thus
supine
I
lie
,
anon
,
I
twinkle
,
and
the
whole
is
gone
;
The
scene
is
chang'd
,
no
more
appear
Or
ships
,
or
towns
,
or
islands
,
near
.
No
more
the
chrystal
waves
are
seen
,
Two
tow'ring
mountains
I'm
between
;
Prodigious
in
their
height
and
size
,
Their
summits
lie
beyond
the
skies
;
Their
magnitude
new
wonder
brings
,
From
which
a
pleasing
grandeur
springs
;
Such
vast
immensity
before
The
face
of
Nature
never
wore
:
Nor
e'er
in
me
,
till
now
did
blend
,
Such
happy
pow'rs
to
comprehend
.
While
down
the
winding
vale
I
stray
,
Upon
an
ivory
pipe
I
play
A
various
and
delightful
lay
.
My
fingers
touch
as
though
they
flew
,
Each
note's
so
sweet
,
and
yet
so
new
,
I
play
and
listen
to
the
sound
,
From
rock
to
rock
I
lightly
bound
;
Sweet
echos
ev'ry
cavern
fill
,
While
my
agility
and
skill
A
mixture
breed
of
strange
surmize
,
Of
doubt
,
of
pleasure
,
and
surprize
!
Encourag'd
by
the
past
,
I
try
If
it
be
possible
to
fly
:
When
,
strange
to
think
,
with
utmost
ease
I
sail
adown
the
pleasant
breeze
.
Amazement
new
,
and
new
demur
,
Again
,
and
yet
again
,
recur
.
Have
I
my
former
self
forgot
?
Or
is
it
me
—
or
is
it
not
?
Again
I
try
,
again
I
find
,
My
body
lighter
than
the
wind
;
Till
,
wanton
grown
,
with
joy
and
mirth
,
I
spurn
the
bosom
of
the
earth
;
Into
the
middle
region
mount
,
And
cities
,
seas
,
and
kingdoms
count
:
Strait
recollect
,
and
now
behold
,
Whate'er
I'ad
read
,
or
had
been
told
.
My
mind
,
my
sight
,
my
soul
,
expand
;
I
view
the
near
and
distant
land
,
Each
object
see
,
examine
all
,
And
understand
both
great
and
small
!
The
freedom
,
too
,
with
which
I
range
Is
more
extatic
,
than
'tis
strange
.
When
,
as
I
high
,
and
higher
,
fly
,
Sudden
appear
,
throughout
the
sky
,
Horses
and
men
in
glittering
arms
,
And
nought
is
heard
but
war's
alarms
:
The
warm
bright
sun
,
in
splendant
glances
,
Plays
quivering
on
their
burnish'd
lances
.
Yet
as
I
view
the
shining
steel
,
No
sense
of
danger
do
I
feel
;
To
win
renown
I
now
aspire
,
And
glow
with
all
the
hero's
fire
;
My
arm
bears
vict'ry
,
I
presage
,
But
,
ere
the
armies
can
engage
I
look
again
,
when
,
lo
!
the
host
Is
all
in
dancing
meteors
lost
!
Still
Night
appears
,
and
Luna's
beams
,
And
light
shoots
o'er
the
sky
in
gleams
.
But
how
shall
I
find
words
to
tell
,
What
,
William
,
after
this
befel
?
Conceive
me
sailing
still
on
high
,
That
,
swifter
than
the
winds
,
I
fly
;
That
,
now
,
I
feel
a
tempest
rise
,
In
which
I'm
tost
about
the
skies
,
Which
are
with
clouds
and
gloom
o'ercast
,
A
trumpet
blows
a
solemn
blast
;
Then
,
in
the
murky
hemisphere
,
Myriads
of
seraphim
appear
,
That
all
the
heav'ns
illuminate
,
And
joys
,
unfelt
before
,
create
.
They
cry
aloud
—
"
THE
GENERAL
DOOM
,
THE
DAY
OF
RESURRECTION'S
COME
!
"
And
lo
!
as
down
my
sight
I
bend
,
Th'
inhabitants
of
earth
ascend
!
In
swarms
they
rise
,
from
latest
time
,
From
ev'ry
nation
,
ev'ry
clime
!
The
quick
and
dead
of
ev'ry
coast
,
Now
,
smiling
,
meet
the
angelic
host
!
All
upward
,
now
,
their
course
pursue
,
'Till
heav'n
itself
appears
in
view
!
'Till
the
fam'd
music
of
the
spheres
,
Salutes
our
ravish'd
wond'ring
ears
!
But
,
William
,
just
as
I
believe
,
No
pow'r
can
me
of
bliss
bereave
—
Just
as
th'
eternal
gates
unfold
,
And
,
past
conceiving
,
I
behold
The
glories
I
must
soon
partake
—
William
—
just
then
—
alas
—
I
wake
.
Suddenly
,
thus
,
my
hopes
were
gone
,
In
less
time
than
St.
Paul's
strikes
one
!
And
all
,
because
,
such
was
my
lot
,
Before
I
went
to
sleep
,
god-wot
,
A
certain
duty
I
forgot
.
Thus
,
while
I
had
my
heavenly
trances
,
My
Lady
had
her
earthly
fancies
.
Thus
,
while
I
floated
in
the
air
,
She
,
restless
,
tumbling
here
and
there
,
With
her
sharp
elbow
spoil'd
my
mirth
,
And
cast
me
down
from
heav'n
to
earth
.
Oh
could
I
but
,
my
friend
,
have
tarried
In
this
blest
place
—
but
I
was
married
—
And
women
,
Will
,
are
very
loath
Men
should
feel
joys
not
felt
by
both
.
Just
so
Eurydice
,
I've
read
,
Brought
down
her
spouse
among
the
dead
,
On
earth
she
would
not
let
him
dwell
,
While
she
was
forc'd
to
live
in
Hell
.
CANTO
V.
CUZ
'
,
I've
related
all
these
visions
,
To
help
our
logical
decisions
;
From
which
I
can't
but
draw
conclusion
,
That
all
is
chaos
and
confusion
:
That
I'm
as
well
convinc'd
each
night
As
the
next
day
,
that
I
am
right
:
In
walking
can
no
more
confide
Than
when
on
"
wings
of
winds
I
ride
.
"
The
consequence
of
which
I
take
,
is
,
That
,
whether
man
asleep
or
'
wake
is
,
His
happiness
,
whate'er
it
seem
,
Is
full
as
false
as
any
dream
.
How
often
,
pray
,
are
we
mistaken
,
When
we
conclude
we're
really
waking
?
How
often
does
each
simple
bustard
Firmly
believe
rice-pudding
custard
?
And
is
not
ev'ry
term
that's
us'd
,
Still
,
liable
to
be
abus'd
?
A
relative
that
has
no
standard
,
That
may
mean
rear
,
when
it
says
van-guard
?
What
you
intend
by
sweet
and
sour
,
By
short
and
long
,
by
day
and
hour
,
Are
but
significant
,
and
true
,
When
felt
by
me
as
felt
by
you
.
You
may
affirm
the
ven'son
sweet
,
I
swear
it
is
not
fit
to
eat
.
Some
liquorice
love
,
and
others
lacker
Their
grinders
with
quid
of
tobacco
.
Your
birds
of
passage
fly
,
with
ease
,
From
land
to
land
,
across
the
seas
;
From
Dover
Cliff
to
th'
church
at
Dieppe
,
Your
swallows
say
is
but
a
step
;
But
ask
a
snail
,
or
slow-worm
,
either
,
How
long
they'd
be
in
crawling
thither
.
In
Lapland
,
if
I'm
told
aright
,
Summer
is
day
,
and
Winter
night
:
Then
how
can
you
in
terms
be
clear
,
If
half
a
day
be
half
a
year
?
Whatever
may
be
said
at
college
,
SENSATION
is
the
source
of
knowledge
;
Our
tongue
,
eyes
,
nose
,
and
ears
perceptive
,
Taste
,
colour
,
smell
,
and
sound
make
captive
:
These
bring
the
various
wares
they
deal
in
,
And
stock
their
great
emporium
FEELING
;
But
then
they're
all
so
curst
conceited
,
They
everlastingly
are
cheated
:
Are
so
deceiving
,
and
deceiv'd
,
They
ne'er
deserve
to
be
believ'd
;
So
simple
are
,
and
void
of
art
,
They'll
take
the
veriest
juggler's
part
;
Wou'd
Breslaw
help
,
them
to
trepan
,
Sir
,
Then
hang
him
for
a
necromancer
.
William
,
whose
tongue
began
to
itch
,
Thought
he
,
who
such
attention
paid
To
ev'ry
thing
Sir
Thomas
said
,
Might
be
allow'd
to
make
a
speech
;
Then
,
with
a
look
a
little
sly
,
Return'd
the
Knight
this
answer
dry
.
Men
,
Sir
,
may
play
you
very
odd
tricks
,
Who
have
but
small
skill
in
dioptrics
;
Ev'n
I
,
here
,
simple
as
I
stand
,
Can
make
the
shadow
of
my
hand
Spread
over
many
a
rood
of
land
;
For
,
place
a
candle
out
,
at
night
,
Your
trav'ler
,
oft
,
its
twinkling
light
Will
fix
his
distant
,
longing
eyes
on
,
While
it
illumes
the
whole
horizon
.
But
let
me
curve
my
hand
around
it
,
The
light's
all
lost
,
and
who
hath
found
it
?
Why
,
Sir
,
my
hollow
palm
,
'tis
plain
,
Doth
miles
and
miles
of
light
contain
;
And
,
most
ungenerous
too
,
doth
hide
The
weary
wand'rer's
hope
and
guide
.
By
which
you
mean
to
hint
,
no
doubt
,
I've
put
your
farthing
candle
out
;
Or
at
the
best
,
my
cousin
comrade
,
What
light
you
have
I
would
obumbrate
.
But
I
can
prove
,
by
reading
Clerkly
,
From
Leibnitz
,
Malbranche
,
Bayle
,
and
Berkley
,
Things
far
more
strange
,
friend
Will
,
than
these
;
Can
prove
,
whenever
you
shall
please
,
The
mite
is
larger
than
the
cheese
.
That
,
howsoever
you
suppose
,
You
do
not
walk
behind
your
nose
;
That
there's
not
water
,
in
the
sea
,
Enough
to
make
a
dish
of
tea
;
That
,
when
he
drinks
,
your
guzzling
sot
Don't
touch
the
handle
,
or
the
pot
;
Nay
,
more
,
can
prove
,
without
your
candle
,
There's
neither
drink
,
sot
,
pot
,
or
handle
.
Your
Philomath
,
with
philology
,
Quoth
Will
,
I
grant
,
doth
often
dodge
ye
At
hide
and
seek
,
Sir
,
intellectual
,
To
make
your
errors
more
effectual
;
'Mong
A's
and
B's
so
snug
will
hide
him
,
Tho'
you
look
near
him
,
and
beside
him
,
Tho'
fifty
times
you've
round
him
gallop'd
,
So
close
,
in
mystery
,
he's
invellop'd
,
That
,
tho'
by
hearing
him
,
you
wind
him
,
The
devil
a
bit
,
Sir
,
can
you
find
him
.
My
understanding
so
obtuse
is
,
I
own
,
I
cannot
find
the
uses
Of
all
these
arguments
,
to
shew
We
nothing
are
,
and
nothing
know
.
Were
oracles
by
Wisdom
utter'd
,
Still
we
must
think
our
bread
is
butter'd
,
Whatever
Sceptics
may
imagine
us
,
When
tongue
and
fingers
are
ol'aginous
;
And
,
for
this
part
o'th'
argument
,
I
quote
from
you
,
Sir
,
precedent
;
"
These
things
,
to
us
,
are
not
ideal
,
With
Fancy
every
thing
is
real
.
"
For
,
what
to
me
,
Sir
,
would
it
matter
,
Altho'
my
wine
were
really
water
,
If
,
as
it
trickled
down
my
gullet
,
It
gave
me
mirth
,
and
pleas'd
my
palate
?
Nay
,
sure
,
Sir
,
'twould
be
very
rude
,
Or
worse
,
'twould
be
ingratitude
,
If
,
while
I
drink
it
,
at
your
table
,
I
should
affirm
'twere
nought
but
fable
.
Your
learned
folks
are
,
oft
,
such
fools
,
And
know
so
little
of
their
tools
,
When
they
chop
logic
,
silly
elves
,
They're
apt
to
hack
and
hew
themselves
.
Whence
some
deduce
,
from
proofs
like
these
,
That
ign'rance
is
a
blest
disease
;
That
he
who
after
knowledge
lingers
But
grasps
a
flame
,
and
burns
his
fingers
;
And
his
ambitious
folly
shews
,
Like
whelps
that
yelp
,
and
run
at
crows
.
Hark
you
,
friend
Will
,
you're
last
suggestion
Is
quite
on
my
side
of
the
question
.
Since
ignorance
is
despicable
,
And
makes
,
who
has
it
,
one
o'th'
rabble
:
And
learning
is
,
still
,
something
worse
;
You've
form'd
one
comprehensive
curse
,
More
vast
,
and
certain
to
engulph
us
,
Than
that
erst
utter'd
by
Ernulphus
.
The
more
we
search
,
the
more
we
find
,
We're
feeble
,
foolish
,
vain
,
and
blind
;
This
only
certain
seems
to
be
,
We're
all
absurd
uncertainty
.
Our
joys
are
false
,
and
false
our
tears
,
False
are
our
hopes
,
and
false
our
fears
.
Our
pleasure
,
like
the
rainbow
,
shews
Then
only
beauteous
when
not
close
;
Tho'
,
glorious
in
its
shining
birth
,
It
seems
to
reach
from
heav'n
to
earth
,
Approach
to
touch
it
,
and
you'll
see
'Twill
vanish
in
nonentity
!
I
own
,
said
Will
,
I'm
at
a
loss
,
You
press
the
point
so
very
close
;
You
scarely
can
be
contradicted
,
Yet
I
don't
wish
to
be
convicted
;
For
,
tho'
with
you
I
cannot
cope
,
So
much
my
int'rest
'tis
to
hope
The
joys
my
young
imagination
Foretold
should
follow
,
in
rotation
,
Each
after
each
,
as
life
advances
,
Were
truths
,
—
I'm
loth
to
think
them
trances
.
But
,
granting
all
as
false
and
vain
As
meteors
,
caus'd
by
sun
and
rain
,
Tho'
active
pleasures
should
beguile
'em
,
Men
may
in
passive
find
asylum
.
YOU
,
Sir
,
whose
well-provided
boat
,
Blest
Independence
keeps
afloat
,
While
she
thus
condescends
to
steer
,
What
tempests
have
YOU
,
Sir
,
to
fear
?
She
,
with
expert
and
jocund
crew
,
Weathers
all
winds
that
ever
blew
.
Should
tow'ring
Pride
contemptuous
think
her
,
And
make
her
strike
,
It
could
not
sink
her
;
Malice
may
shoot
,
but
cannot
shake
her
;
Lame
Poverty
can
ne'er
o'ertake
her
;
While
Labour
,
Learning
,
Genius
,
all
Are
ever
ready
at
her
call
;
Happy
,
by
her
,
to
be
employ'd
,
Thrice
happy
if
,
by
her
,
enjoy'd
.
From
whence
you
argue
,
Cousin
Will
,
At
least
,
we're
easy
,
when
we're
still
.
That
,
when
kind
heav'n
has
sent
us
meat
,
We've
only
to
sit
down
and
eat
.
But
,
when
the
passions
are
in
chace
,
It
,
then
,
may
prove
a
silly
race
.
Like
as
the
hind-legs
of
a
hound
May
run
o'er
many
a
league
of
ground
To
catch
the
fore
—
but
they're
mistaken
—
When
they
lie
down
they're
overtaken
.
Whence
,
I
conjecture
,
you
profess
That
apathy
is
happiness
;
That
he
,
whose
wishes
breed
no
riot
,
Is
comfortable
,
good
,
and
quiet
.
To
such
a
one
I'd
grant
,
at
most
,
He's
just
as
happy
as
a
post
.
His
goodness
,
likewise
,
be
it
said
,
Is
like
a
wife's
without
her
head
;
Who
,
tho'
her
humours
never
teize
you
,
Her
kisses
are
not
like
to
please
you
:
For
she
,
'tis
held
,
who
has
no
mouth
,
Will
neither
kiss
,
nor
quench
her
drowth
.
For
this
,
friend
William
,
I
contend
,
Better
had
man
his
being
end
,
And
die
at
once
,
since
die
he
must
,
Than
,
with
inanity
,
to
rust
.
Better
,
than
thus
to
mope
and
doze
,
Feel
pangs
from
fingers
down
to
toes
.
Better
,
than
thus
to
sit
hum
drum
,
Like
country
schoolmaster
become
,
Who
hammers
at
each
stupid
cub
,
To
teach
him
ab
,
eb
,
ib
,
ob
,
ub
—
And
,
midst
a
squawling
,
wrangling
crew
,
Doth
everlastingly
pursue
His
d
—
d
dull
ba
,
be
,
bi
,
bo
,
bu
.
CANTO
VI
.
YET
sure
,
said
Will
,
Sir
,
some
of
those
Whom
Fame
,
as
Nature's
wonders
,
shews
;
Who
,
high
in
honours
,
high
in
birth
,
Rever'd
for
sacred
virtue's
worth
;
Whose
deeds
,
descent
,
and
merits
are
Held
equally
renown'd
and
rare
;
Or
those
whose
fortunes
some
blest
chance
Conspir'd
with
Genius
to
advance
;
And
gave
,
what
Genius
deems
his
due
,
A
seat
among
th'
immortal
few
;
Sure
those
brave
spirits
,
who
,
when
fled
,
Were
ever
call'd
the
mighty
dead
;
Whose
actions
grace
the
scroll
of
Fame
,
Sure
those
to
happiness
had
claim
.
And
,
'tis
an
axiom
,
long
in
use
,
Like
causes
like
effects
produce
.
From
whence
,
friend
Will
,
you
would
infer
,
Some
men
are
blest
,
because
some
were
.
But
this
wont
pass
,
my
cunning
stager
,
Imprimis
,
I
deny
your
major
.
These
mighty
dead
,
of
whom
you
puff
,
And
think
you
ne'er
can
brag
enough
;
Nor
your
trull
Fame
(
whose
cheeks
are
bloated
Like
bladders
,
on
which
boys
have
floated
)
Stuft
out
and
cramm'd
with
lies
enormous
,
About
her
slashing
,
swashing
Hectors
,
Her
grim
Mandragons
—
Plusquamperfectors
,
Of
suffering
man
the
curst
dissectors
,
But
who's
more
silent
than
a
dormouse
Concerning
private
worth
and
action
;
Or
,
if
she
speak
,
speaks
in
detraction
;
These
bull-fac'd
,
brazen-headed
Messieurs
,
Wholesale
and
retail
human
graziers
,
These
man-flesh
butchers
,
with
their
fly-flops
,
These
Anthropophaginian
Cyclops
,
That
tap
who
never
had
the
Hydrops
,
These
Caco-daemons
,
I
maintain
,
Sir
,
Of
whom
both
she
and
you
are
vain
,
Sir
,
As
subject
were
to
flux
,
or
cancer
,
As
you
,
or
I
,
or
any
man
,
Sir
:
As
liable
to
puke
,
and
be
sick
,
When
they
were
order'd
to
take
physic
;
As
much
would
scratch
and
writhe
and
groan
,
At
itch
,
gripes
,
gravel
,
gout
,
or
stone
;
With
screw'd-up
phiz
would
grunt
and
twist
—
Oh
la
!
When
they
were
cutting
for
a
fistula
;
Would
faint
as
soon
if
,
for
a
scotomy
,
The
Doctor
should
prescribe
phlebotomy
;
As
much
would
caper
,
curse
,
and
kick
,
When
needle
under
nail
did
stick
;
As
much
were
tortur'd
by
brain-tumours
,
I
mean
as
captious
in
their
humours
,
Would
fret
and
fume
,
and
be
as
fractious
,
As
drunken
chymney-sweeps
or
blackshoes
;
Would
break
the
crockery
,
spill
the
grey
peas
,
And
cuff
their
wives
,
and
whip
their
babies
,
Burn
tables
,
stools
,
and
chairs
to
cinders
,
And
toss
the
house
out
at
the
windows
;
Would
pinch
,
bite
,
scratch
,
snarl
,
scold
or
squabble
,
Like
Billinsgate
or
Ragfair
rabble
.
Methinks
I
hear
one
of
these
heroes
,
Who
little
better
were
than
Neros
,
Wrangling
with
Ma'am
,
and
domineering
,
Bullying
at
this
,
at
that
thing
sneering
,
Cry
—
"
D
—
n
your
pudding
—
d
—
n
your
beef
,
"
And
d
—
n
your
sobbing
,
sniveling
grief
;
"
Damme
I'd
rather
munch
a
dry
crust
"
Alone
,
than
live
with
you
on
pie-crust
;
"
For
neither
you
,
your
soup
,
or
sallad
,
"
Are
made
at
all
to
please
my
palate
.
"
If
Ma'am
replies
,
he
lays
the
lash
on
,
And
,
with
his
hair
erect
,
with
passion
,
Out
issues
he
,
brimful
of
ire
,
Snorts
swords
,
breathes
brimstone
,
and
spits
fire
,
Snuffs
gunpowder
,
rips
up
red
coats
,
Cuts
you
some
fifty
thousand
throats
,
Leaves
not
a
rat
,
cat
,
hog
,
or
dog
an
eye
,
But
cleaves
them
as
you'd
cleave
mahogany
;
Vineyards
and
fields
devours
in
malice
,
And
quaffs
hot
blood
in
scull-scoop'd
chalice
:
Then
vaunts
his
most
pernicious
pranks
,
And
looks
dead
who
don't
give
him
thanks
:
Annihilates
Tuum
and
Meum
,
Commands
the
priest
to
chant
Te
Deum
,
And
,
like
Drawcansir
,
bluffly
swears
,
"
All
this
he
does
,
because
he
dares
.
"
Good
Sir
,
said
Will
,
I
ne'er
suppos'd
Content
,
by
such
folks
,
was
engross'd
.
Far
other
men
were
in
my
guess
,
Whom
every
age
and
people
bless
;
Who
useful
arts
the
nations
taught
,
Or
who
for
Freedom
bravely
fought
;
Who
,
first
,
with
ploughshare
,
broke
the
glebe
,
Or
pass'd
the
shuttle
thro'
the
web
;
He
who
conducted
lovely
Truth
And
Science
to
the
haunts
of
Youth
,
Aptly
their
pleasing
lore
convey'd
,
And
all
their
wond'rous
gifts
display'd
.
Of
such
I
spoke
—
or
he
whose
song
Charm'd
and
reform'd
the
listening
throng
.
Who
,
as
the
ringing
harp
he
swung
,
Rais'd
his
sweet
voice
and
rapid
tongue
In
phrase
most
fit
,
and
lofty
verse
,
The
deeds
of
heroes
to
rehearse
!
(
Of
heroes
,
who
,
by
Virtue
claim'd
,
Among
th'
immortal
Gods
are
nam'd
)
Who
,
as
along
the
numbers
roll'd
,
The
laws
of
Nature
could
unfold
!
Or
with
a
sad
and
piteous
tale
The
man
of
iron
could
assail
;
Or
,
when
Oppression
durst
provoke
,
In
thunder
to
the
passions
spoke
!
Their
headlong
rage
would
strait
controul
,
"
And
freeze
and
harrow
up
the
soul
!
"
How
oft
,
friend
Will
,
reply'd
the
Knight
,
Am
I
oblig'd
to
set
you
right
;
Again
repeating
,
and
again
,
Men
ever
were
,
and
will
be
men
?
Why
must
I
tell
you
,
no
man
,
yet
,
That
Eve
and
Adam
could
beget
,
(
This
to
your
memory
pray
recall
,
Adam
and
Eve
begat
us
all
;
For
,
in
their
primary
endeavour
,
World
without
end
,
for
ever
and
ever
,
The
blacks
and
whites
,
and
those
of
copper
,
Were
ground
out
of
our
Granny's
hopper
.
Such
is
the
orthodoxy
dixit
,
And
d
—
d
be
he
who
contradicts
it
.
)
No
man
is
freed
from
Fate's
mischances
,
Except
in
novels
and
romances
?
The
brightest
characters
have
blots
;
The
sun
itself
is
full
of
spots
:
Which
,
as
I
guess
,
ar'n't
very
young
,
Yet
have
not
been
discover'd
long
.
In
fact
,
our
eyes
are
oft
so
feeble
,
They'd
overlook
the
parish
steeple
;
And
tho'
sent
forth
to
search
and
mind
it
,
Return
and
say
they
could
not
find
it
.
You
see
these
folks
thro'
a
dark
lantern
,
And
still
,
most
carefully
,
your
hand
turn
,
Full
on
each
face
to
throw
the
light
,
Then
wonder
how
it
came
so
bright
.
So
once
a
painter
,
in
supposes
,
The
radiance
drew
of
grandsire
Moses
;
And
,
when
he'd
done
,
so
says
the
story
,
Fell
down
and
worshipp'd
his
own
glory
:
But
(
for
a
Christian
cuckolds
scorns
)
He
quite
forgot
to
add
the
horns
.
Tho'
Jews
,
with
reverence
be
it
spoken
,
Hold
horns
a
magisterial
token
;
Which
is
the
reason
,
say
the
witty
,
Why
Jews
do
mostly
live
i'th'
city
.
But
to
our
text
—
I
say
,
once
more
,
All's
not
divine
that
men
adore
.
Your
Germans
bow
to
Jacob
Behmen
,
Your
Greeks
,
Sir
,
reverence
Philopaemon
.
Saint
Januarius
keeps
,
at
Naple
,
A
market
where
he's
always
staple
.
Your
Russian
is
tied
down
to
th'
grindstone
Of
Nicholases
holy
mill-stone
.
Some
love
th'
eleven
hundred
virgins
;
Your
Jews
and
Turks
are
circum-surgeons
:
And
he
who
dares
be
het'rodox
,
Had
better
get
the
plague
,
or
p-x
.
For
priests
in
all
lands
preach
and
pray
,
Not
to
convince
,
but
get
the
day
,
Or
,
what
is
better
still
,
the
pay
:
And
tho'
some
bid
each
humble
brother
,
When
smote
on
one
cheek
,
to
turn
t'other
,
Oppos'd
themselves
,
they
still
incline
'em
To
Argumentum
Bacculinum
:
And
he's
puff'd
down
,
who
their
fine
flams
scorns
,
Like
Jericho
,
at
blast
of
rams-horns
.
Will
star'd
,
and
cry'd
,
Sir
,
whither
verge
you
?
You're
not
a
foe
sure
to
the
Clergy
!
That
,
Will
,
depends
on
circumstances
,
I'm
no
man's
foe
who
peace
advances
;
Who
,
mild
and
gentle
,
strives
to
win
,
Not
to
opinion
—
but
from
sin
:
Who
,
like
the
Parson
of
old
Dryden
,
Would
scorn
Oppression's
back
to
ride
on
:
Who
can
suppose
a
Turk
may
be
Almost
as
good
a
man
as
he
,
And
that
opinions
with
salvation
Are
not
allied
,
in
any
nation
;
That
,
tho'
a
man
were
so
absurd
As
not
to
b'lieve
a
single
word
O'th'
stuff
with
which
some
folks
are
cram'd
,
There
yet
are
hopes
he
may'nt
be
damn'd
.
Or
,
let's
suppose
what's
still
absurder
,
Since
supposition
is
no
murder
,
One
who
has
faith
in
all
the
fictions
,
The
fables
,
lies
,
and
contradictions
That
e'er
were
broach'd
from
Folly's
mouth
,
Between
the
North
pole
and
the
South
;
Who'd
worship
Molock
,
God
of
Ammon
,
Or
dance
to
Tomtom
round
Ramraman
;
Pay
Mumbo-jumbo
adoration
,
Hold
Pawaws
in
vast
veneration
;
Believe
i'th'
navel-string
of
Brama
,
Eat
holy
dung
of
Dalay
Lama
;
Credit
the
tale
of
St.
Gelasias
As
much
as
Creed
of
Athanasius
;
Resolving
to
have
faith
in
all
,
Lest
men
him
heretic
should
call
;
The
Priest
who'd
hope
my
love
to
win
,
Must
think
e'en
this
no
mortal
sin
:
With
points
of
doctrine
must
dispense
,
From
who've
too
much
or
little
sense
,
Provided
they
to
others
do
As
they
wish
to
be
done
unto
:
Must
still
preserve
that
simple
plan
Which
his
meek
Master
first
began
;
On
human
hearts
must
make
invasion
By
gentleness
,
and
mild
persuasion
;
Nor
think
to
cure
the
mind
of
maggots
By
purging
it
with
fiery
faggots
:
Nor
must
pretend
,
if
me
he'd
please
,
To
supernat'ral
extasies
;
But
must
be
as
sincere
as
kind
.
This
brings
an
anecdote
to
mind
,
Concerning
an
irreverend
Friar
,
Miracle-monger
,
therefore
liar
;
A
relic
juggler
,
most
rapacious
;
Of
life
luxurious
and
salacious
,
Who
watch'd
a
wooden
virgin's
shrine
,
And
was
,
by
fools
,
suppos'd
divine
.
It
chanc'd
,
one
Summer
,
where
he
dwelt
,
The
heavens
did
not
that
year
melt
,
As
usual
,
in
refreshing
showers
,
To
chear
the
thirsty
,
languid
flowers
;
Hence
,
'twas
much
fear'd
,
the
gasping
earth
Would
feel
a
universal
dearth
.
Hence
,
too
,
did
selfish
Superstition
To
heav'n
send
many
a
vague
petition
;
But
,
in
the
midst
of
this
her
grief
,
Our
Friar
promis'd
her
relief
;
If
to
his
shrine
she'd
make
procession
,
The
clouds
should
,
likewise
,
make
emission
;
For
so
,
said
he
,
the
holy
mother
Has
told
me
,
your
unworthy
brother
.
Well
,
Sir
,
—
the
farce
is
underta'en
,
When
lo
!
it
strait
begins
to
rain
;
A
Miracle
!
the
people
cry
,
A
Miracle
!
resounds
on
high
.
The
gaping
crowd
run
here
and
there
,
And
tell
of
angels
made
of
air
;
Trot
home
for
off'rings
not
a
few
,
To
pay
old
scores
as
well
as
new
;
And
,
as
they
bring
their
glad
oblations
,
Recount
their
many
obligations
;
And
how
the
Virgin
did
inspire
,
With
prophecy
,
her
holy
Friar
;
While
he
applauds
his
dext'rous
wit
,
And
laughs
to
think
how
fools
are
bit
.
You
ask
how
he
could
here
deceive
:
I'll
tell
you
,
if
you'll
give
me
leave
.
Not
by
his
faith
did
he
foretell
,
His
want
of
faith
did
just
as
well
.
His
lust
,
and
former
fornication
,
Supplied
the
place
of
Revelation
.
For
nought
of
Heav'n
,
or
Hell
,
more
true
is
,
Than
that
the
Friar
had
a
Lues
,
Of
ten
years
standing
at
the
least
,
Which
us'd
to
twinge
the
unclean
beast
;
And
taught
him
,
from
his
pangs
,
to
gather
Prognostics
of
a
change
of
weather
.
Which
cheat
this
reverend
,
chaste
divi
e
,
Discover'd
to
his
concubine
;
And
she
,
being
tickled
with
the
joke
,
Told
it
to
all
with
whom
she
spoke
;
While
those
who
heard
,
fail'd
not
to
scoff
it
,
And
say
the
p
—
x
had
made
a
prophet
.
You
seem
to
wonder
where
I'll
end
,
And
whither
all
these
windings
tend
:
I'll
tell
you
,
Will
,
they
form
a
mirror
,
That
shews
men
lost
in
fogs
of
error
.
They
tend
to
prove
my
first
position
,
THAT
HAPPINESS
IS
ALL
A
VISION
;
A
shadow
which
men
keep
in
view
,
That
runs
as
fast
as
they
pursue
,
Stands
when
they
stand
,
winds
when
they
wind
,
Sometimes
before
,
sometimes
behind
,
At
all
attempts
to
catch
it
mocks
,
And
ne'er
was
brought
t'an
Equinox
:
At
no
one
moment
would
allow
A
man
to
say
—
I
have
thee
now
.
They
tend
to
shew
,
that
life
,
at
best
,
As
saith
Dan
Gay
,
is
but
a
jest
;
A
candle
,
where
fresh
tumors
sprout
,
Which
,
to
remove
,
is
oft
snuff
▪
d
out
By
Law
or
Honour
,
Rope
or
Sword
,
As
Judge
or
General
gives
the
word
:
And
he
has
sure
a
lucky
snuffing
,
Who's
cropt
from
cradle
into
coffin
.
And
should
you
think
these
doctrines
vain
,
Hear
,
Will
,
the
moral
they
contain
.
So
short
a
time
are
mortals
twirl'd
About
this
transitory
world
;
(
For
he
who
tarries
longest
in
it
Can
scarce
be
said
to
live
a
minute
)
So
little
do
we
truly
know
,
What
shall
bring
future
weal
or
woe
;
Such
trifles
are
the
things
we
prize
,
In
Truth
and
sober
Reason's
eyes
;
So
futile
and
incompetent
,
To
make
one
blessing
permanent
;
That
he
who'd
ignominious
live
,
For
any
good
this
world
can
give
;
Would
condescend
to
recollect
The
loss
of
Worth
,
and
Worth's
respect
;
Or
,
to
obtain
some
private
end
,
To
guilt
,
or
meanness
could
descend
,
And
act
,
from
self-applause
exempt
,
What
sinks
him
into
self-contempt
;
Could
see
how
short
,
how
vague
,
how
vain
Are
joys
,
and
all
that
joys
contain
;
Yet
,
seeing
this
,
could
be
betray'd
,
Doth
Common-sense
so
much
degrade
,
Such
ample
infamy
deserves
,
If
he
with
such
conviction
swerves
,
No
epithet
,
by
man
express'd
,
That
Wit
or
Malice
can
suggest
,
Or
scurril
Rancour
e'er
devis'd
,
Can
say
how
such
a
fool
shou'd
be
despis'd
.
THE
END
.