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And oh! if e'er I should forget, I swearBut that's impossible, and cannot be— Sooner shall this blue ocean melt to air,
Sooner shall earth resolve itself to sea, Than I resign thine image, oh, my fair!
Or think of anything excepting thee; A mind diseased no remedy can physic."
(Here the ship gave a lurch and he grew sea-sick.) "Sooner shall heaven kiss earth!" (Here he fell sicker.)
"Oh, Julia! what is every other woe?
(For God's sake let me have a glass of liquor;
He felt that chilling heaviness of heart,
Or rather stomach, which, alas! attends, Beyond the best apothecary's art,
The loss of love, the treachery of friends, Or death of those we dote on, when a part
Of us dies with them as each fond hope ends. No doubt he would have been much more pathetic, But the sea acted as a strong emetic.
Love's a capricious power: I've known it hold
Out through a fever caused by its own heat,
Against all noble maladies he's bold,
But vulgar illnesses don't like to meet, Nor that a sneeze should interrupt his sigh, Nor inflammations redden his blind eye.
But worst of all is nausea, or a pain
Shrinks from the application of hot towels,
Sea-sickness death. His love was perfect, how else Could Juan's passion, while the billows roar, Resist his stomach, ne'er at sea before?
After Swimming the Hellespont
IF, in the month of dark December,
If, when the wint'ry tempest roar'd,
For me, degenerate, modern wretch,
But since he crossed the rapid tide,
'Twere hard to say who fared the best:
Sad mortals, thus the gods still plague you!
He lost his labour, I my jest;
For he was drowned, and I've the ague.
STRANGER! behold, interred together,
His works were neat, and often found
Michael's Call for Witnesses
Now Satan turned and waved his swarthy hand,
Although we find them sometimes in our skies; Infernal thunder shook both sea and land
In all the planets, and hell's batteries.
This was a signal unto such damned souls
As have the privilege of their damnation Extended far beyond the mere controls
Of worlds past, present, or to come; no station Is theirs particularly in the rolls
Of hell assigned; but where their inclination Or business carries them in search of game, They may range freely-being damned the same.
They're proud of this-as very well they may,
Up the back stairs, or such freemasonry.
Being clay myself. Let not those spirits be Offended with such base low likenesses; We know their posts are nobler far than these.
When the great signal ran from heaven to hell-
How much time it takes up, even to a second,
The fogs of London, through which, dimly beaconed, The weather-cocks are gilt some thrice a year,
If that the summer is not too severe
say that I can tell-'twas half a minute:
Ere, packed up for their journey, they begin it;
And if they ran a race, they would not win it
'Gainst Satan's couriers bound for their own clime.
The sun takes up some years for every ray
Like an aerial ship it tacked, and steered,
Of the last phrase, which makes the stanza stammer—
But take your choice); and then it grew a cloud;
But such a cloud! No land e'er saw a crowd