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Oft 1 complained the time was slow,
And lengthen'd out my hours of woe;
Weary of day, I wish'd the light
Would hasten to give way to night;
Impatient of the night, I lay
And wish'd again for rising day;
Nor day nor night my torment ceas'd,
The groaning evil still increas'd;
Till thou, (that day be ever blest!)
Wast call'd, great Artist, to the West :
The work was in a moment done,
Without one struggle or a groan;
So swift thy hand, I scarce could feel
The progress of the cutting steel;
Eneas could not less endure,
Tho' Venus did attend the cure,
Not her soft hand, and touch divine,
Perform'd more tenderly than thine,
When by her aid lapis own'd

The barbed arrow left the wound;

For quicker e'en than sense or thought,
The latent ill to view was brought,

And I beheld with ravish'd eyes
The cause of all my agonies.
Of Cæsar's sword we wonders hear,
Alcides' club, Pelides' spear,
But those let others celebrate,
The wasteful instruments of fate;
Thy lancet merits more by far
Than all the weapons us'd in war;
By wounds and death they glory gain,
Thou triumph'st over death and pain :
This I with thousands witness true,
Whilst that we live, we live by you,
That we instruction can attend,
Enjoy the converse of a friend,

Delight o'er fields and meads to stray,
And with my dear associates play,
All this to thee, to thee I owe,

That now my thoughts with ease can flow;
Henceforth if any time I live,

If any joy I shall perceive,
If any good hereafter do,

To thee my thanks for all is due.
O could I reach the true sublime,
With energy of thought in rhyme,
In verse I would inscribe thy name
On lasting monuments of fame;
Long as my life its course shall run,
Till all the fatal thread be spun,
Each morn as duly as I rise,
Each eve before I close my eyes;
When I adore th' unseen above,
In whom I live, in whom I move,
And pay my reverential praise
For all the blessings of my days,
Recounting all from first to last,
As I from youth to age have past,
In this memorial first shall stand
His mercy by thy saving hand,
And above all the race of men,
I'll bless my God for Chesselden.

CXLIII.

Lithiasis longum miseros cruciaverit artus,
Non herbis, cultro nec removenda lues;
Non huic Hippocrates didicit succurrere morbo,
Nec medicam novit ferre Galenus opem;

Non huic sufficiunt, præsens quos protulit ætas,
Indomito Friendus Ratcliviusque malo.
En subito est inventa salus! promittere nemo
Quod prius auderet, femina sola parat,
Quid tibi solvetur pro tam felicibus ausis?
Præmia qui solvet digna, senatus erit.

CXLIV. UTERE QUÆSITIS SAPIENS.

Cottilus auratos libros emit, ac timet uti,
Pagina ne turpi sit violata manu;
Ordine quemque suo rutilo distinguit honore,
Scrinia sed claudunt ordine quemque suo.
Cottile, ne spectes externum, si sapis, aurum,
Sed spectes gazam quam liber intus habet.

CXLV. ALIUSQUE ET IDEM.

There goes a tale not very old,

"Twas but in Anna's reign,

Which some folks think might now be told

With better grace again.

Soon as the Queen a change had made
For Ministers more fit,

A cunning wight in masquerade,

Resolv'd to shew his wit.

A party-colored vest he wore,

Pick'd out of many a pack;

His breast with knaves was cover'd o'er,

And knaves bespread his back.

His friends admire the odd disguise,

And beg him to explain,

To whom the merry blade replies,
The jest is very plain.

Survey our change with caution due,
And need you then be told
That these I wear before, are new,

And those behind are old.

CXLVI. THE FATE OF GENIUS.

Homer was a beggar.

Plautus turned a mill:

Boethius died in gaol.

Paul Borghese had fourteen trades and yet starved with them all.

Tasso was often distressed for the value of five shillings.

Bentivoglio was refused admittance into an hospital which he had himself erected.

Cervantes died of hunger.

Camoens (the celebrated author of "The Lusiad") ended his days in an alms-house.

Vaugelas left his body to the surgeons to pay his debts as far as it would go.

Sir Walter Raleigh died on a scaffold.

Spenser, ("the charming Spencer") died forsaken and in want. Collins's death came through neglect, first causing mental derangement.

Bacon lived a life of meanness and distress.

Milton sold his copyright of "Paradise Lost" for fifteen pounds at three payments, and finished his life in obscurity.

Dryden lived in poverty and died in distress.

Otway died prematurely and through hunger.
Lee died in the streets.

Steele lived a life of perfect warfare with the bailiffs. Goldsmith's "Vicar of Wakefield" was sold for a trifle to save him from the gripe of the law.

Fielding lies in the burying ground of the English Factory at Lisbon without a stone to mark the spot.

Savage died in prison at Bristol where he was confined for a debt of eight pounds.

Butler lived in penury and died poor.

Chatterton "the child of genius and misfortune" destroyed himself, and lies in the church-yard of a work-house.

Dean Swift died in a lunatic asylum which he had himself erected.

CXLVII. SATAN'S VISIT TO BIRMINGHAM.

In his breakfast-room, as the Devil one morn
Sate sipping his coffee away,
Says he to himself, "Suppose I take

A journey of pleasure to-day :

I have but little to do at home,

And that may be left undone,

So I'll go and no matter wheree'er I roam
Just to see how the world wags on.

I've travelled here, and I've travelled there,
And the world's seven wonders seen,
But as I'm a living sinner, I swear,

I have mever to Birmingham been.
They say, it is nothing but fire and smoke,
If so, it will suit me well,

So I'll go and see if the climate there
Is as warm as it is in h—ll.

I'm quite aware that I need not go,

To see how my work gets on,

For I've plenty of staunch friends there I know-
Munchausen Edmonds is one.

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