THE

DISPENSARY.

CANTO V.

WHEN the ftill night, with peaceful poppies crown'd

Had fpread her fhady pinions o'er the ground;

And flumbering chiefs of painted triumphs dream,
While groves and streams are the foft virgin's theme
The furges gently dash against the shore,

Flocks quit the plains, and gally-flaves the oar;
Sleep fhakes its downy wings o'er mortal eyes;
Mirmillo is the only wretch it flies;

He finds no refpite from his anxious grief;
Then feeks from this foliloquy relief.

Long have I reign'd unrival'd in the town,
Opprefs'd with fees, and deafen'd with renown.
None e'er could die with due folemnity,
Unless his páffport first was fign'd by me.
My arbitrary bounty 's undeny'd;

I give reverfions, and for heirs provide.
None could the tedious nuptial state fupport,
But I, to make it eafy, make it fhort.

;

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I fet the difcontented matrons free,

And ranfom husbands from captivity.
Shall one of fuch importance then engage
In noify riot, and in civil rage?

No: I'll endeavour ftraight a peace, and fo
Preferve my character, and person too.

'But Difcord, that ftill haunts with hideous mien
Thofe dire abodes where Hymen once hath been,
O'erheard Mirmillo's anguifh; then begun
In peevish accents to exprefs her own:
Have I fo often banifh'd lazy peace
From her dark folitude, and lov'd recefs?
Have I made South and Sherlock difagree,
And puzzle truth with learn'd obfcurity?
And does the faithful Fergufon profefs
His ardour fill for animofities?
Have I, Britannia's fafety to enfure,
Expos'd her naked, to be moft fecure?

Have I made parties oppofite, unite,

In monstrous leagues of amicable spite,

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To curfe their country, whilft the common cry
Is freedom; but their aim, the ministry?
And fhall a daftard's cowardice prevent
The war, fo long I've labour'd to foment?
No, 'tis refolv'd, he either fhall comply,
Or I'll renounce my wan divinity.

40

With that, the Hag approach'd Mirmillo's bed, 45 And, taking Querpo's meagre fhape, the faid:

At noon of night I haften, to difpel

Thofe tumults in your penfive bofom dwell.

I dreamt

I dreamt but now I heard your heaving fighs,
Nay, faw the tears debating in your eyes.

O that 'twere but a dream! but threats I find

Lour in your looks, and rankle in your mind.
Speak, whence it is this late diforder flows,
That shakes your foul, and troubles your repose.
Mittakes in practice fcarce could give you pain;
Too well you know, the dead will ne'er complain.
What looks difcover, faid the homicide,

Would be a fruitlefs induftry to hide.

My fafety first I muft confult, and then
I'll ferve our fuffering party with my pen.

All should, reply'd the Hag, their talent learn;
The moft attempting oft' the leaft difcern.
Let Peterborough speak, and Vanbrugh write,
Soft Acon court, and rough Cæcinna fight:
Such muft fucceed; but, when th' enervate aim
Beyond their force, they ftill contend for shame.
Had Colbatch printed nothing of his own,
He had not been the Saffold of the town.
Affes and owls, unfeen, their kind betray,
If thefe attempt to hoot, or thofe to bray.
Had Welley never aim'd in verse to please,
We had not rank'd him with our Ogilbys.
Still cenfures will on dull pretenders fall;
A Codrus fhould expect a Juvenal.

I lines, but like ill paintings, are allow'd,
To fet off, and to recommend the good.
So diamonds take a luftre from their foil;
And to a Bentley 'tis, we owe a Boyle.
F

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75.

Confider

Confider well the talent you poffefs;

To ftrive to make it more, would make it lefs:
And recollect what gratitude is due,
To thofe whofe party you abandon now.
To them you owe your odd magnificence,
But to your ftars your magazine of fenfe.
Hafpt in a tombril, aukward have you shin'd,
With one fat flave before, and none behind.
Then hafte and join your true intrepid friends,
Succefs on vigour and difpatch depends.

Labouring in doubts Mirmillo ftood; then said,
'Tis hard to undertake, if gain diffuade;
What fool for noify feuds large fees would leave?
Ten harvests more would all I wifh for give.

True man! reply'd the elf; by choice difeas'd,
Ever contriving pain, and never pleas'd.
A prefent good they flight, an abfent choose;
And what they have, for what they have not, lofe.
Falfe profpects all their true delights deftroy,
Refolv'd to want, yet labouring to enjoy.
In reftiefs hurries thoughtlessly they live,
At:fubftance oft' unmov'd, for fhadows grieve.

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 87-104. Originally thus,

But foon what they 've exalted they 'll difcard,
And fet up Carus or the city Bard.

Alarm'd at this the Fiero courage took,

And ftorms of terror threaten'd in his look.
My dread refolves, he cry'd, I'll ftraight purfue;
The Fury, fatisfy'd, in fmiles withdrew.

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Children

Children at toys, as men at titles, aim
And in effect both covet but the fame.
This Philip's fon prov'd in revolving years;
And first for rattles, then for worlds fhed tears.
The Fury fpoke; then in a moment fir'd
The hero's breaft with tempefts, and retir'd.
In boding dreams Mirmillo fpent the night,
And frightful phantoms danc'd before his fight,
Till the pale Pleiads clos'd their eyes of light.
At length gay morn glows in the eastern skies,
The larks in raptures through the æther rife,
The azure mifts feud o'er the dewy lawns,
The chaunter at his early matins yawns,
The amaranth opes its leaves, the lys its bells,
And Progne her complaint of Tereus tells.

As bold Mirmillo the gray dawn defcries,
Arm'd cap-a-pe, where honour calls, he flies,
And finds the legions planted at their poft;
Where mighty Querpo fill'd the eye the moft.
His arms were made, if we may credit fame,
By Mulciber, the Mayor of Birmingham.
Of temper❜d ftibium the bright shield was caft,
And yet the work the metal far furpafs'd.

A foliage of the vulnerary leaves,

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Grav'd round the brim, the wondering fight deceives.
Around the centre Fate's bright trophies lay,

Probes, faws, incifion-knives, and tools to flay.
Embost upon the field, a battle flood

Of leeches fpouting hæmorrhoidal blood.