THE

DISPENSARY.

W

CANTO V.

THEN 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 soft virgin's theme; The furges gently dafh againft the fhore,

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 respite 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 paffport first was fign'd by me. My arbitrary bounty 's undeny'd;

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

I fet the difcontented matrons free,

And ransom hufbands from captivity.
Shall one of fuch importance then engage
In noisy riot, and in civil rage ?

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

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But Difcord, that still haunts with hideous mien 25 Thofe dire abodes where Hymen once hath been, O'crheard Mirmillo's anguifh; then begun In peevish accents to exprefs her own: Have I fo often banish'd lazy peace From her dark folitude, and lov'd recess ? Have I made South and Sherlock difagree, And puzzle truth with learn'd obfcurity? And does the faithful Fergufon profess His ardour ftill for animofities?

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Have I, Britannia's fafety to enfure,
Expos'd her naked, to be most secure?

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Have I made parties oppofite, unite,

In monstrous leagues of amicable spite,

To curfe their country, whilft the common cry
Is freedom; but their aim, the ministry ?

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And shall 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.

With that, the Hag approach'd Mirmillo's bed,
And, taking Querpo's meagre shape, she said :
At noon of night I hasten, to dispel

Thofe tumults in your penfive bofom dwell.

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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 disorder flows,
That shakes your foul, and troubles your repose.
Mistakes in practice fcarce could give you pain;
Too well you know, the dead will ne'er complain.
What looks discover, faid the homicide,

Would be a fruitless industry to hide.
My fafety first I must confult, and then
I 'll serve our suffering party with my pen.

All fhould, reply'd the Hag, their talent learn;
The most 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 fhame.
Had Colbatch printed nothing of his own,
He had not been the Saffold of the town.
Affes and owls, unfeen, their kind betray,
If these attempt to hoot, or those 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.
Il lines, but like ill paintings, are allow'd,
To set 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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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 stars your magazine of sense.
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 dispatch depends.

Labouring in doubts Mirmillo ftood; then faid,
'Tis hard to undertake, if gain diffuade ;
What fool for noify feuds large fees would leave?
Ten harvests more would all I wish 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 destroy,
Refolv'd to want, yet labouring to enjoy.
In restless 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 Hero courage took,

And ftorms of terror threaten'd in his look.

My dread refolves, he cry'd, I'll straight pursue ;
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 firft for rattles, then for worlds fhed tears.
The Fury fpoke; then in a moment fir'd
The hero's breast with tempests, and retir’d.

In boding dreams Mirmillo spent 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 fcud 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 post;
Where mighty Querpo fill'd the eye the most.
His arms were made, if we may credit fame,
By Mulciber, the Mayor of Birmingham.
Of temper'd stibium the bright shield was cast,
And
yet the work the metal far surpass'd.

A foliage of the vulnerary leaves,

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 stood

Of leeches fpouting hæmorrhoidal blood.