The drooping Sciences neglected pine,

And Paan's beams with fading lustre shine.
No readers here with hectic looks are found,
Nor eyes in rheum, through midnight-watching
drown'd:

The lonely edifice in sweats complains
That nothing there but sullen silence reigns.
This place, so fit for undisturb'd repose,
The God of Sloth for his asylum chose;
Upon a couch of down in these abodes
Supine with folded arms he thoughtless nods;
Indulging dreams his godhead lull to ease,
With murmurs of soft rills, and whispering trees:
The poppy and each numbing plant dispense
Their drowsy virtue, and dull indolence;
No passions interrupt his easy reign,
No problems puzzle his lethargic brain,
But dark oblivion guards his peaceful bed,
And lazy fogs hang lingering o'er his head.

As at full length the pamper'd monarch lay
Battening in ease, and slumbering life away,
A spiteful noise his downy chains unties,
Hastes forward, and increases as it flies.

First some to cleave the stubborn flint engage, Till urged by blows, it sparkles into rage: Some temper lute, some spacious vessels move: These furnaces erect, and those approve. Here phials in nice discipline are set, There gallipots are ranged in alphabet. In this place, magazines of pills you spy; In that, like forage, herbs in bundles lie; While lifted pestles, brandish'd in the air, Descend in peals, and civil wars declare.

The building of the Dispensary.

Loud strokes, with pounding spice, the fabric rend, And aromatic clouds in spires ascend.

So when the Cyclops o'er their anvils sweat, And swelling sinews echoing blows repeat: From the volcanos gross eruptions rise, And curling sheets of smoke obscure the skies. The slumbering god, amazed at this new din, Thrice strove to rise, and thrice sunk down again, Listless he stretch'd, and gaping, rub'd his eyes, Then falter'd thus betwixt half words and sighs: How impotent a deity am I!

6

With godhead born, but cursed, that cannot die!
Through my indulgence, mortals hourly share
A grateful negligence, and ease from care.
Lull'd in my arms, how long have I withheld
The northern monarchs from the dusty field!
How have I kept the British fleet at ease,
From tempting the rough dangers of the seas!
Hibernia owns the mildness of my reign,
And my divinity's adored in Spain.

I swains to silvan solitudes convey,

Where, stretch'd on mossy beds, they waste away
In gentle joys the night, in vows the day.
What marks of wondrous clemency I've shown,
Some reverend worthies of the gown can own.
Triumphant plenty, with a cheerful grace,
Basks in their eyes, and sparkles in their face.
How sleek their looks, how goodly is their mien,
When big they strut behind a double chin!
Each faculty in blandishments they lull,
Aspiring to be venerably dull;

No learn'd debates molest their downy trance,
Or discompose their pompous ignorance;
But, undisturb'd, they loiter life away,
So wither green, and blossom in decay,

Deep sunk in down, they, by my gentle care,
Avoid the' inclemencies of morning air,

And leave to tatter'd Crape' the drudgery of

prayer.

Urim was civil, and not void of sense,
Had humour, and a courteous confidence;
So spruce he moves, so gracefully he cocks,
The hallow'd rose declares him orthodox;
He pass'd his easy hours, instead of prayer,
In madrigals, and Phillising the fair;
Constant at feasts, and each decorum knew,
And, soon as the dessert appear'd, withdrew:
Always obliging, and without offence,
And fancied for his gay impertinence.
But see how ill mistaken parts succeed;
He threw off my dominion, and would read;
Engaged in controversy, wrangled well;
In convocation language could excel;

In volumes proved the church without defence,
By nothing guarded, but by Providence:
How grace and moderation disagree;
And violence advances charity:

Thus writ till none would read, becoming soon

A wretched scribbler of a rare buffoon.

Mankind my fond propitious power has tried, Too oft to own, too much to be denied. And all I ask are shades and silent bowers, To pass in soft forgetfulness my hours. Oft have my fears some distant villa chose, O'er their quietus where fat Judges doze, And lull their cough and conscience to repose: Or if some cloister's refuge I implore, Where holy drones o'er dying tapers snore,

5 See Boileau's Lutrin.

Dr. Atterbury, afterwards Bishop of Rochester.

The peals of Nassau's' arms these eyes unclose,
Mine he molests to give the world repose.
That ease I offer with contempt he flies,
His couch a trench, his canopy the skies.
Nor climes nor seasons his resolves control,
The' equator has no heat, no ice the pole,
With arms resistless o'er the globe he flies,
And leaves to Jove the empire of the skies.'
But as the slothful god to yawn begun,
He shook off the dull mist, and thus went on

*

"Twas in this reverend dome I sought repose, These walls were that asylum I had chose†. Here have I ruled, long undisturb'd with broils, And laugh'd at heroes, and their glorious toils. My annals are in mouldy mildews wrought, With easy insignificance of thought. But now some busy, enterprising brain, Invents new fancies to renew my pain, And labours to dissolve my easy reign.'

7 See Boil. Lut.

VARIATION.

* Sometimes among the Caspian cliffs I creep,
Where solitary bats and swallows sleep:
Or if some cloister's refuge I implore,
Where holy drones o'er dying tapers snore,
Still Nassau's arms a soft repose deny,
Keep me awake, and follow where I fly.

Since he has bless'd the weary world with peace,
And with a nod has bid Bellona cease;

I sought the covert of some peaceful cell,
Where silent shades in harmless raptures dwell;
That rest might past tranquillity restore,

And mortal never interrupt me more.

† Nought underneath this roof but damps are found,
Nought heard but drowsy beetles buzzing round :
Spread cobwebs hide the walls, and dust the floors,
And midnight silence guards the noiseless doors.

With that, the god his darling Phantom calls, And from his faltering lips this message falls:

Since mortals will dispute my power, I'll try Who has the greatest empire, they or I. Find Envy out, some prince's court attend, Most likely there you'll meet the famish'd fiend*; Or where dull critics authors' fate foretell; Or where stale maids or meagre eunuchs dwell. Tell the bleak fury what new projects reign Among the homicides of Warwick Lane; And what the event, unless she straight inclines To blast their hopes, and baffle their designs.'

More he had spoke, but sudden vapours rise, And with their silken cords tie down his eyes.

CANTO II.

SOON as the evening veil❜d the mountains heads,
And winds lay hush'd in subterranean beds;
Whilst sickening flowers drink up the silver dew,
And beaux, for some assembly, dress anew;
The city saints to prayers and play-house haste;
The rich to dinner, and the poor to rest:
Officious Phantom then prepared with care
To slide on tender pinions through the air.
Oft he attempts the summit of a rock,
And oft the hollow of some blasted oak;
At length approaching where bleak envy lay;
The bissing of her snakes proclaim'd the way.

VARIATION.

* Or in cabals, or camps, or at the bar,
Or where ill poets pennyless confer,
Or in the senate-house at Westminster.