  ——?—— "Sing, heavenly Muse, Things unattempted yet, in prose or rhyme, A shilling, breeches, and chimeras dire." Happy the man, who void of cares and strife, In silken, or in leathern purse retains A Splendid Shilling. He nor hears with pain New oysters cry'd, nor sighs for cheerful ale; But with his friends when nightly mists arise, To Juniper's Magpye, or Town Hall Where, mindful of the nymph, whose wanton eye Transfix'd his soul, and kindled amorous flames, Cloe, or Philips, he each circling glass Wisheth her health, and joy, and equal love. Meanwhile, he smokes, and laughs at merry tale, Or pun ambiguous, or conundrum quaint. But I, whom griping penury surrounds, And hunger, sure attendant upon want, With scanty offals, and small acid tiff, Wretched repast! my meagre corps sustain: Then solitary 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 size Smokes Cambro-Briton, vers'd in pedigree, Sprung from Cadwalador and Arthur, kings Full famous in romantic tale, when he O'er many a craggy hill and barren cliff, Upon a cargo of fam'd Cestrian cheese, High over-shadowing rides, with a design To vend his wares, or at th' Arvonian mart, Or Maridunum, or the ancient town Ycleped Brechinia, or where Vaga's stream Encircles Ariconium, fruitful soil! Whence flows nectareous wine, that well may vie With Massic, Setin, or renown'd Falern. Thus, while my joyless minutes tedious flow With looks demure, and silent 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 solemn sound. What should I do? or whither turn? Amaz'd, Confounded to the dark recess I fly Of woodhole; straight my bristling hairs erect Thro' sudden fear; a chilly sweat bedews My shudd'ring limbs, and, wonderful to tell! My tongue forgets her faculty of speech; So horrible he seems! his faded brow Entrench'd with many a frown, and conic beard, And spreading band, admir'd by modern saints, Disastrous acts forebode. In his right hand Long scrolls of paper solemnly he waves, With characters and figures dire inscrib'd, Grievous to mortal eyes; ye gods avert Such plagues from righteous men! Behind him stalks Another monster not unlike himself, Sullen of aspect, by the vulgar call'd A Catchpole, whose polluted hands the gods With force incredible and magic charms First have endu'd: if he his ample palm Should haply on ill-fated shoulder lay Of debtor, straight his body, to the touch Obsequious as whilom knights were wont, To some enchanted castle is convey'd, Where gates impregnable, and coercive chains In durance strict detain him till, in form Of money, Pallas sets the captive free. Beware, ye debtors, when ye walk, beware! Be circumspect; oft with insidious ken This caitiff eyes your steps aloof, and oft Lies perdue in a nook or gloomy cave, Prompt to enchant some inadvertent wretch With his unhallow'd touch. So, poets sing, Grimalkin to domestic vermin sworn 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 disembowell'd web Arachne in a hall, or kitchen, spreads, Obvious to vagrant flies: she 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 wasp insidious, and the buzzing drone, And butterfly proud of expanded wings Distinct with gold, entangled in her snares, Useless resistance make: with eager strides, 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 carcasses triumphant drags. So pass my days. But when nocturnal shades This world envelop, and th' inclement air Persuades men to repel benumbing frosts With pleasant wines, and crackling blaze of wood; Me, lonely sitting, 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 sigh, and feed with dismal thoughts My anxious mind, or sometimes mournful verse Indite, and sing of groves and myrtle shades, Or desp'rate lady near a purling stream, Or lover pendant on a willow-tree. Meanwhile I labour with eternal drought, And restless wish, and rave, my parchÉd throat Finds no relief, nor heavy eyes repose: But if a slumber haply does invade My weary limbs, my fancy's still awake, Thoughtful of drink, and eager, in a dream, Tipples imaginary pots of ale, In vain; awake I find the settled thirst Still gnawing, and the pleasant phantom curse. Thus do I live, from pleasure quite debarr'd, Nor taste the fruits that the sun's genial rays Mature, John Apple, nor the downy Peach, Nor Walnut in rough-furrow'd coat secure, Nor Medlar fruit delicious in decay: Afflictions great! yet greater still remains. My Galligaskins that have long withstood The winter's fury, and encroaching frosts, By time subdu'd, what will not time subdue! An horrid chasm disclos'd 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 sail'd secure, or thro' th' Ægean deep, Or the Ionian, till cruising near The Lilybean shore, 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 side The crowding waves gush with impetuous rage, Resistless, overwhelming; horrors seize The mariners, death in their eyes appears, They stare, they lave, they pump, they swear, they pray; Vain efforts! still the batt'ring waves rush in, Implacable, till delug'd by the foam, The ship sinks found'ring in the vast abyss. |
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