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Ideas, all extravagant and vain,
In endless swarms croud in upon the brain:
The cheated reafon true and falfe confounds,
And forms her notions from fantastic grounds.
Then, if the blood impetuous swells the veins,
And choler in the conftitution reigns,
Outrageous fury ftraight inflames the foul,
Quick beats the pulfe, and fierce the eye-balls roll;
Rattling his chains the wretch all raving lies,
And roars, and foams; and earth and heaven defies.
Not fo, when gloomy the black bile prevails,
And lumpifh phlegm the thick'ned mafs congeals:
All lifeless then is the poor patient found,
And fits for ever moping on the ground;
His active powers their ufes all forego,
Nor fenfes, tongue, nor limbs, their functions know.
In melancholy lost, the vital flame
Informs, and juft informs the liftless frame.
If brifk the circulating tides advance,
And nimble fpirits through the fibres dance,
Then all the images delightful rise,
The tickled fancy fparkles through the eyes;
The mortal, all to mirth and joy refign'd,
In every gefture fhews 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 purfue, And all the dome, and each apartment view.
Within this lonely lodge, in folemn port, A fhiv'ring monarch keeps his awful court,
And far and wide, as boundless thought can stray, Extends a vaft imaginary fway.
Utopian princes bow before his throne,
Lands unexifting 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,
Rife to his view, and in his fancy fwell,
And guards and courtiers croud his empty cell.
See how he walks majeftic through the throng!
(Behind he trails his tatter'd robes along)
And cheaply bleft, and innocently vain,
Enjoys the dear delufion of his brain,
In this small spot expatiates unconfin'd,
Supreme of monarchs, firft of human kind.
Such joyful ecftacy as this poffeft
On fome triumphal day great Cæsar's breast ;
Great Cæfar, fcarce 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 sight;
Unnumber'd trophies grace the pompous train,
And captive kings indignant drag their chain.
With laurell'd enfigns glitt'ring from afar,
His legions, glorious partners of the war,
His conqu❜ring legions march behind the golden car:
Whilft fhouts on fhouts from gather'd nations rife,
And endless acclamations rend the skies.
For this to vex mankind with dire alarms,
Urging with rapid speed his restless arms,
From clime to clime the mighty madman flew,
Nor tafted quiet, nor contentment knew,
But spread wild ravage all the world abroad,
The plague of nations, and the fcourge of GOD.
Poor Cloe-whom yon little cell contains,
Of broken vows and faithlefs man complains:
Her heaving bofom fpeaks her inward woe;
Her tears in melancholy filence flow.
Yet ftill her fond defires tumultuous rife,
Melt her fad foul, and languifh in her eyes,
And from her wild ideas as they rove,
To all the tender images of love;
And fill the fooths and feeds the flatt'ring pain,
Falfe as he is, ftill, ftill fhe loves her swain,
To hopeless paffion yields her heart a prey;
And fighs and fings the livelong hours away.
So mourns th' imprifon'd lark his hapless fate,
In love's soft season ravish'd from his mate,
Fondly fatigues his unavailing rage,
And hops and flutters round and round his cage,
And moans and droops, with pining grief oppreft,
Whilft sweet complainings warble from his breast.
Lo! Here a wretch to avarice refign'd, 'Midft gather'd fcraps, and fhreds, and rags confin'd; His riches thefe-for these he rakes and spares, These rack his bofom, thefe engross his cares; O'er these he broods, for ever void of reft, And hugs the fneaking paffion of his breaft. Sce, from himself the fordid niggard steals, Referves large fcantlings from his flender meals;
Scarce to his bowels half their due affords,
And ftarves his carcafe to increase his hoards,
'Till to huge heaps the treasur'd offals fwell,
And flink in every corner of his cell.
And thus with wondrous wisdom he purveys
Against contingent want, and rainy days,
And fcorns the fools that dread not to be poor,
But eat their morfel, and enjoy their store.
Behold a fage! immers'd in thought profound;
For fcience he, for various fkill renown'd.
At no mean ends his speculations aim,
(Vile pelf he fcorns, 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 fchemes;
All day his clofe attention he applies,
Nor gives he midnight flumbers to his eyes;
Content of this, his toilfome ftudies crown,
And for the world's repofe negle&s his own.
All nature's fecret caufes he explores,
The laws of motion, and mechanic powers:
Hence ev❜n the elements his art obey,
O'er earth, o'er fire, he fpreads his wond'rous fway,
And thro' the liquid fky, 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 ftops 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 ftill fupplies the means,
Forces his tools, and fixes his machines,
Erects his fluices, and his mounds fuftains,
And whirls perpetual windmills in his brains.
All problems has his lively thought subdu❜d,
Meafur'd the stars, and found the longitude,
And fquar'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 foul inflam'd with patriot zeal,
A fcheme he finifh'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 bafenefs! the deceit fo blind,
Our poor projector in this jail confin'd.
The mufe forbears to vifit every cell,
Each form, each object of distress to tell;
To fhew the fopling curious in his dress,
Gaily trick'd out in gaudy raggedness:
The poet, ever wrapt in glorious dreams
Of Pagan gods, and Heliconian ftreams:
The wild enthufiaft, that defpairing fees
Predeftin'd wrath, and heaven's fevere decrees;
Thro' these, thro' more fad scenes the grieves to go,
And paint the whole variety of woe.
Mean time, on these reflect with kind concern, And hence this juft, this ufeful leffon learn: