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Ideas, all extravagant and vain,
In endless swarms croud in
the brain :
The cheated reason true and false confounds,
And forms her notions from fantastic grounds.
Then, if the blood impetuous swells the veins,
And choler in the constitution reigns,
Outrageous fury straight infames the foul,
Quick beats the pulse, and fierce the eye-balls roll;
Rattling his chains the wretch all raving lies,
And roars, and foams; and earth and heaven defies.
Not so, when gloomy the black bile prevails,
And lumpish phlegm the thick’ned mass congeals ;
All lifeless then is the poor patient found,
And fits for ever moping on the ground;
His active powers their uses all forego,
Nor senses, tongue, nor limbs, their functions know.
In melancholy loft, the vital flame
Informs, and just informs the listless frame.
If brisk the circulating tides advance,
And nimble fpirits through the fibres dance,
Then all the images delightful rise,
The tickled fancy sparkles through the eyes ;
The mortal, all to mirth and joy resign’d,
In every gesture shews his freakish mind;
Frolic and free, he laughs at fortune's power,
And plays ten thousand gambols in an hour.
Now ent'ring in, my mufe, thy theme pursue,
And all the dome, and each apartment view.
Within this lonely lodge, in solemn port, A fhiv'ring monarch keeps his awful court,
And far and wide, as boundless thought can stray,
Extends a vast imaginary sway.
Utopian princes bow before his throne,
Lạnds unexisting his dominion own,
And airy realms, and regions in the moon.
The pride of dignity, the pomp of state,
The darling glories of the envy'd great,
Rise to his view, and in his fancy swell,
And guards and courtiers croud his empty cell.
See how he walks majestic through the throng!
(Behind he trails his tatter'd robes along)
And cheaply blest, and innocently vain,
Enjoys the dear delusion of his brain,
In this small spot expatiates unconfin'd,
Supreme of monarchs, first of human kind.
Such joyful ecstacy as this possest
On some triumphal day great Cæsar's breast;
Great Cæsar, scarce beneath the gods ador’d,
The world's proud victor, Rome's imperial lord,
With all his glories in their utmost height,
And all his power display'd before his fight;
Unnumber'd trophies grace the pompous train,
And captive kings indignant drag their chain.
With laurelld ensigns glitt'ring from afar,
His legions, glorious part'ners of the war, . His conqu’ring legions march behind the golden car:
Whilft fhouts on fhouts from gather'd nations rise,
And endless acclamations rend the skies.
For this to vex mankind with dire alarms,
Urging with rapid speed his reftless arms,
From clime to clime the mighty madman Aew,
Nor tasted quiet, nor contentment knew,
But spread wild ravage all the world abroad,
The plague of nations, and the scourge of GOD.
Poor Cloe-whom yon little cell contains,
Of broken vows and faithless man complains :
Her heaving borom speaks her inward woe;
Her tears in melancholy silence flow.
Yet ftill her fond desires tumultuous rise,
Melt her sad soul, and languish in her eyes,
And from her wild ideas as they rove,
To all the tender images of love;
And fill she sooths and feeds the fatt’ring pain,
False as he is, ftill, fill she loves her swain,
To hopeless passion yields her heart a prey ;
And sighs and fings the livelong hours away.
So mourns th' imprison’d lark his hapless fate,
In love's soft season ravish'd from his mate,
Fondly fatigues his unavailing rage,
And hops and Autters round and round his cage,
And moans and droops, with pining grief opprest,
Whilst sweet complainings warble from his breast.
Lo! Here a wretch to avarice resign'd, Midst gather'd scraps, and shreds, and rags confin'd; His riches these for these he rakes and spares, These rack his bosom, these engross his cares; O'er these he broods, for ever void of rest, And hugs the sneaking passion of his breast. See, from himself the sordid niggard steals, Reserves large scantlings from his slender meals;
Scarce to his bowels half their due affords,
And starves his carcase to increase his hoards,
'Till to huge heaps the treasur’d offals swell,
And stink in every corner of his cell.
And thus with wondrous wisdom he purveys
Against contingent want, and rainy days,
And scorns the fools that dread not to be
poor But eat their morsel, and enjoy their store.
Behold a fage! immers’d in thought profound; For science he, for various skill renown'd. At no mean ends his speculations aim, (Vile pelf he scorns, nor covets empty fame) The public good, the welfare of mankind Employ the generous labor of his mind. For this his rich imagination teems With rare inventions and important schemes ; All day his close attention he applies, Nor gives he midnight slumbers to his eyes; Content of this, his toilsome studies crown, And for the world's repose neglects his own. All nature's secret causes he explores, The laws of motion, and mechanic powers: Hence ev'n the elements his art obey, O’er earth, o'er fire, he spreads his wond'rous sway, And thro' the liquid sky, and o'er the wat’ry way. Hence, ever pregnant with some vast design, He drains the moor-land, or he finks the mine, Or levels lofty mountains to the plain, Or stops the roaring torrents of the main;
Forc'd up by fire he bids the water rise,
And points his course reverted to the skies.
His ready fancy still supplies the means,
Forces his tools, and fixes his machines,
Erects his sluices, and his mounds sustains,
And whirls perpetual windmills in his brains.
All problems has his lively thought subdu'd,
Measur’d the stars, and found the longitude,
And squar'd the circle, and the tides explain’d:
The grand arcanum once he had attain’d,
Had quite attain'd, but that a pipkin broke,
And all his golden hopes expir'd in smoke.
And once, his soul infiam'd with patriot zeal,
A scheme he finish'd for his country's weal:
This in a private conference made known,
A statesman stole, and us'd it for his own,
And then, O baseness! the deceit so blind,
Our poor projector in this jail confin'd.
The muse forbears to visit every cell,
Each form, each object of distress to tell ;
To shew the fopling curious in his dress,
Gaily trick'd out in gaudy raggedness:
The poet, ever wrapt in glorious dream's
Of Pagan gods, and Heliconian streams :
The wild enthufiaft, that despairing sees
Predestin'd wrath, and heaven's severe decrees;
Thro’ these, thro’ more sad scenes the grieves to go,
And paint the whole variety of woe.
Mean time, on these reflect with kind concern, And hence this just, this useful leffon learn :