'Tis a brave cow, O, sirs, when Christmas comes, These shins shall make the porridge grac'd with plums;
Then, 'midst our cups, whilst we profusely dine, This blade shall enter deep in Mully's chine. What ribs, what rumps, what bak'd, boil'd, stew'd, and roast!
There shan't one single tripe of her be lost!" When Peggy, nymph of Mountown, heard these sounds,
She griev'd to hear of Mully's future wounds. "What crime," said she, has gentle Mully done? Witness the rising and the setting Sun,
That knows what milk she constantly would give! Let that quench Robin's rage, and Muily live."
Daniel, a sprightly swain, that us'd to slash The vigorous steeds that drew his lord's calash, To Peggy's side inclin'd; for 'twas well known How well he lov'd those cattle of his own.
Then Terence spoke, oraculous and sly, He'd neither grant the question nor deny; Pleading for milk, his thoughts were on mincepie:
But all his arguments so dubious were,
That Mully thence had neither hopes nor fear.
"You've spoke," says Robin; "but now, let
me tell ye,
'Tis not fair spoken words that fill the belly:
Pudding and beef I love; and cannot stoop
To recommend your bonny-clapper soup.
You say she's innocent: but what of that?
"Tis more than crime sufficient that she's fal!
And that which is prevailing in this case
Is, there's another cow to fill her place.
And, granting Mully to have milk in store,
Yet still this other cow will give us more.
She dies."-Stop here, my Muse: forbear the rest :
And veil that grief which cannot be exprest!
FIRST PRINTED BY THE AUTHOR IN 1704.
As poets say, one Orpheus went
To Hell upon an odd intent.
First tell the story, then let's know,
If any one will do so now.
This Orpheus was a jolly boy,
Born long before the siege of Troy;
His parents found the lad was sharp,
And taught him on the Irish harp;
And, when grown fit for marriage-life,
Gave him Eurydice for wife;
And they, as soon as match was made,
Set up the ballad-singing trade.
The cunning varlet could devise,
For country folks, ten thousand lies;
Affirming all those-monstrous things
Were done by force of harp and strings";
Could make a tiger in a trice
Tame as a cat, and catch your mice;
Could make a lion's courage flag,
And straight could animate a stag,
And, by the help of pleasing ditties,
Make mill-stones run, and build up cities;
Each had the use of fluent tongue,
If Dicé scolded, Orpheus sung.
And so, by discord without strife,
Compos'd one harmony of life;
And thus, as all their matters stood,
They got an honest livelihood.
Happy were mortals, could they be
From any sudden danger free!
Happy were poets, could their song
The feeble thread of life prolong!
But, as these two went stro ling on,
Poor Dicé's scene of life was done :
Away her fleeting breath must fly,
Yet no one knows wherefore, or why.
This caus'd the general lamentation,
To all that knew her in her station;
How brisk she was still to advance
The harper's gain, and lead the dance,
In every tune observe her thrili,
Sing on, yet change the money still.
Orpheus best knew what loss he had,
And, thinking on't, fell almost mad,
And in despair to Linus ran,
Who was esteem'd a cunning-man;
Cried, "He again must Dicé have,
Or else be buried in her grave."
Quoth Linus, "Soft, refrain your sorrow:
What fails today, may speed tomorrow.
Thank you the gods for whate'er happens,
But don't fall out with your fat capons.
'Tis many an honest man's petition,
That he may be in your condition.
If such a blessing might be had,
To change a living wife for dead,
I'd be your chapman; nay, I'd dơ't,
Though I gave forty pounds to boot.
Consider first, you save her diet;
Consider next, you keep her quiet:
For, pray, what was she all along,
Except the burthen of your song?
What, though your Dicé's under ground;
Yet many a woman may be found,
Who, in your gains if she may part take,
Trust me, will quickly make your heart ach:
Then, rest content, as widowers should-
The gods best know what's for our good!
Orpheus no longer could endure
Such wounds, where he expected cure.
"Is't possib ́e!" cried he: " and can
That noble creature, married man,
In such a cause be so profane?
I'll fly thee far as I would Death,
Who from my Dicé took her breath.”
Which said, he soon outstript the wind,
Whilst puffing Boreas lagg'd behind;
And to Urganda's cave he came,
A lady of prodigious fame,
Whose hollow eyes and hopper breech
Made common people call her witch;
Down at her feet hé prostrate lies,
With trembling heart and blubber'd eyes.
"Tell me," said he, "for sure you know The powers above, and those below, Where does Eurydice remain? How shall I fetch her back again?"
She smilingly replied, "I'll tell
This easily without a spell:
The wife you look for's gone to Hell-
Nay, never start, man, for 'tis so;
Except one ill-bred wife or two,
The fashion is, for all to go.
Not that she will be damn'd; ne'er fear
But she may get preferment there.
Indeed, she might be fried in pitch,
If she had been a bitter bitch;
If she had leapt 'athwart a sword,
And afterwards had broke her word.
But your Eurydice, poor soul ! -
Was a good-natur'd harmless fool;
Except a little cattervawling,
Was always painful in her calling;
And, I dare trust old Pluto for't,
She will find favour in his court:
But then to fetch her back, that still
Remains, and may be past my skill;
For, 'tis too sad a thing to jest on,
You're the first man e'er ask'd the question;
For husbands are such selfish elves,
They care for little but themselves.
And then one rogue cries to another,
Since this wife's gone, e'en get another:
Though most men let such thoughts alone,
And swear they've had enough of one.
But, since you are so kind to Dicé,
Follow the course which I advise ye;
E'en go to Hell yourself, and try
Th' effect of music's harmony;
For you will hardly find a friend,
Whom you in such a case might send:
Besides, their Proserpine has been
The briskest dancer on the green,
Before old Pluto ravish'd her,
Took her to Hell-and you may swear,
She had but little music there;
For, since she last beheld the Sun,
Her merry dancing days are done :
She has a colt's-tooth still, I warrant,
And will not disapprove your errand.
Then your request does reason seem,
For what's one single ghost to them?
Though thousand phantoms should invade ye,
Pass on-faint heart ne'er won fair lady!
The bold a way will find, or make;
Remember, 'tis for Dicé's sake."
Nothing pleas'd Orpheus half so well,
As news that he must go to Hell.
Th' impatient wight long'd to be going,
As most folks seek their own undoing;
Ne'er thought of what he left behind;
Never consider'd he should find
Scarce any passenger beside
Himself, nor could he hire a guide.
"Will music do't?" cried he. "Ne'er heed: My harp shall make the marble bleed; My harp all dangers shall remove, And dare all flames, but those of love." Then kneeling begs, in terms most civil, Urganda's passport to the Devil.
Her she kindly to him gave,
pass
Then bade him 'noint himself with salve;
Such as those hardy people use,
Who walk on fire without their shoes,
Who, on occasion, in a dark hole,
Cau gormandize on lighted charcoal,
And drink eight quarts of flaming fuel,
As men in flux do water-gruel.
She bade him then go to those caves,
Where conjurers keep fairy slaves,
Such sort of creatures as will baste ye
A kitchen-wench, for being nasty,
But, if she neatly scour her pewter,
Give her the money that is due t' her.
Orpheus went down a narrow hole,
That was as dark as any coal;
He did at length some glimmering spy,
By which, at least, he might descry
Ten thousand little fairy elves,
Who there were solacing themselves.
All ran about him, cried, "Oh, dear! Who thought to have seen Orpheus here? 'Tis that queen's birth-day which you see, And you are come as luckily :
You had no ballad but we bought it,
Paid Dicé when she little thought it;
When you beneath the yew-tree sat,
We've come, and all danc'd round your hat;
But whereabouts did Dicé leave ye?
She had been welcome, sir, believe me."
"These little chits would make one swear," Quoth Orpheus, 'twixt disdain and fear. "And dare these urchins jeer my crosses, And laugh at mine and Dicé's losses? Hands off-the monkeys hold the faster; Sirrahs, I'm going to your master!"
"Good words," quoth Oberon: "don't flinch; For, every time you stir, I'll pinch; But, if you decently sit down,
I'll first equip you with a crown;
Then for each dance, and for each song,
Our
pence apiece the whole night long."
Orpheus, who found no remedy,
Made virtue of necessity;
Though all was out of tune, their dance
Would only hinder his advance.
Each note that from his fingers fell
Seem'd to be Dicé's passing-bell;
At last, night let him ease his crupper,
Get on his legs, to go to supper.
Quoth Nab, "We here have strangers seldom, But, sir, to what we have you're welcome." "Madam, they seem of light digestion.
Is it not rude to ask a question,
What they may be, fish, flesh, or fruit?
For I ne'er saw things so minute."
"A roasted ant, that's nicely done, By one small atom of the Sun.
These are flies' eggs, in moon-shine poach'd;
This a flea's thigh in collops scotch'd,
'Twas hunted yesterday i'th' Park,
And like t' have 'scap'd us in the dark.
This is a dish entirely new,
Butterflies' brains dissolv'd in dew;
These lover's vows, these courtiers' hopes,
Things to be eat by microscopes;
These sucking mites, a glow-worm's heart,
This a delicious rainbow-tart!"
"Madam, I find, they're very nice, And will digest within a trice;
I see there's nothing you esteem,
That's half so gross as our whipt-cream;
And I infer, from all these meats,
That such light suppers keep clean sheets."
"But, sir," said she, " perhaps you're dry!"
Then, speaking to a fairy by,
"You've taken care, my dear Endia, All's ready for my ratifia."
"A drop of water, newly torn Fresh from the rosy-finger'd Morn;
A pearl of milk, that's gently prest
From blooming Hebe's early breast;
With half a one of Cupid's tears,
When he in embryo first appears;
And honey from an infant bee:
Makes liquor for the gods and me !"
"Madam," says he, "an't please your
I'm going to a droughty place;
And, if I an't too bold, pray charge her,
The draught I have be somewhat larger."
"Fetch me," said she, "a mighty bowl,
Like Oberon's capacious soul,
And then fill up the burnish'd gold
With juice that makes the Britons bold.
This from seven barley-corns I drew,
Its years are seven, and to the view
'Tis clear, and sparkles fit for you.
"But stay-
When I by Fate was last time hurl'd,
To act my pranks in t'other world,
I saw some sparks as they were drinking,
With mighty mirth and little thinking,
Their jests were supernaculum,
I snatch'd the rubies from each thumb,
And in this crystal have them here,
Perhaps you'll like it more than beer."
Wine and late hours dissolv'd the feast,.
And men and fairies went to rest.
The bed where Orpheus was to lie.
Was all stuff'd full of harmony:
Purling streams and amorous rills,
Dying sound that never kills,
Zephyrus breathing, love delighting,
Joy to slumber soft inviting,
Trembling sounds that make no noise,
And songs to please without a voice,
Were mixt with down that fell from Jove,
When he became a swan for love.
'Twas night, and Nature's self lay dead, Nodding upon a feather-bed;
The mountains seem'd to bend their tops,
And shutters clos'd the milleners' shops,
Excluding both the punks and fops;
No ruffled streams to mill do come,
The silent fish were still more dumb;
Look in the chimney, not a spark there,
And darkness did itself grow darker.
But Orpheus could not sleep a wink,
He had too many things to think:
But, in the dark, his harp he strung,
And to the listening fairies sung.
Prince Prim, who pitied so much youth
Join'd with such constancy and truth,
Soon gave him thus to understand;
"Sir, I last night receiv'd command
To see you out of fairy land,
Into the realm of Nosnotbocai;
But let not fear of sulphur choak ye;
For he's a fiend of sense and wit,
And has got many rooms to let."
As quick as thought, by glow-worm glimpse, Out walk the fidler and the prince. They soon arrive; find Bocai brewing Of claret for a vintner's stewing.
"I come from Oberon," quoth prince Prim. ""Tis well," quoth Bocai: "what from him?" "Why, something strange; this honest man Had his wife died; now, if he can, He says, he'd have her back again."
Then Bocai, smiling, cried, "You see,
Orpheus, you'd better stay with me.
For, let me tell you, sir, this place,
Although it has an ugly face,
If to its value it were sold,
Is worth ten thousand ton of gold;
And very famous in all story,
Call'd by the name of Purgatory.
For, when some ages shall have run,
And Truth by Falsehood be undone,
Shall rise the whore of Babylon;
And this same whore shall be a man,
Who, by his lies and cheating, can
Be such a trader in all evil,
As to outdo our friend the Devil :
He and his pimps shall say, that when
A man is dying, thither then
The Devil comes to take the soul,
And carry him down to this hole;
But, if a man have store of wealth,
To get some prayers for his soul's health,
The Devil has then no more to do,
But must be forc'd to let him go.
But we are no more fools than they,
Thus to be bubbled of our prey.
By these same pious frauds and lies,
Shall many monasteries rise:
Friars shall get good meat and beer,
To pray folks out that ne'er came here;
Pans, pots, and kettles, shall be given,
To fetch a man from hence to Heaven.
Suppose a man has taken purses,
Or stolen sheep, or cows, or horses,
And chances to be hang'd; you'd cry,
Let him be hang'd, and so good-by.
Hold, says the friar; let me alone,
He's but to Purgatory gone;
And, if you'll let our convent keep
Those purses, cows, horses, and sheep,
The fellow shall find no more pain,
Than if he were alive again."
Here Orpheus sigh'd, began to take on,
Cried, "Could I find the whore you spake on,
I'd give him my best flitch of bacon:
I'd give him cake and sugar'd sack,
If he would bring my Dicé back:
Rather than she should longer stay,
I'd find some lusty man to pray.
And then poor Dicé, let him try her,
I dare say, would requite the friar."
Great Nosnotbocai smil'd to see
Such goodness and simplicity.
Then kindly led them to a cell,
An outward granary of Hell;
A filthy place, that's seldom swept,
Where seeds of villany are kept.
"Orpheus," said he, "I'd have you take
Some of these seeds here, for my sake;
Which, if they are discreetly hurl'd
Throughout the parts of t'other world,
They may oblige the fiend you sue to,
And fill the palace of old Pluto.
"Sow pride-seed uppermost; then above
Envy and scandal plant self-love.
Here take revenge, and malice without cause,
And here contempt of honesty and laws;
This hot seed's anger, and this hotter lust,
Best sown with breach of friendship, and of trust:
These storm, hail, plague, and tempest seeds;
And this a quintessence of weeds;
This the worst sort of artichoke,
A plant that Pluto has himself bespoke,
Nourish it well, 'tis useful treachery;
This is a choice though little seed, a lie:
Here take some now from these prodigious loads,
Of tender things that look like toads:
In future times, these, finely drest,
Shall each invade a prince's breast;
'Tis flattery seed; though thinly sown,
It is a mighty plant when grown,
When rooted deep, and fully blown;
Now see these things like bubbles fly;
These are the seeds of vanity.
Take tyrant acorns, which will best advance,
If sown in eastern climates, or in France;
But these are things of most prodigious hopes,
They're Jesuit bulbs tied up with ropes,
And these the Devil's grafts for future popes,
Which with fanaticism are join'd so clean,
You'd scarce believe a knife had pass'd between.
False-witness seed had almost been forgot,
'Twill be your making, should there be a plot,
And now, dear Orpheus, scatter these but well;
And you'll deserve the gratitude of Hell."
Quoth Orpheus, "You shall be obey'd
In every thing that you have said,
For mischief is the poet's trade:
And whatsoever they shall bring,
You may assure yourself, I'll sing.
But pray what poets shall we have,
At my returning from the grave?”
"Sad dogs!" quoth Bocai,-" let me seeBut, since what I say cannot shame them, I'll e'en resolve to never name them.
"But now," says Bocai, "sir, you may
Long to be going on your way,
Unless you'll drink some arsenic claret:
'Tis burnt, you see: but Sam can spare it,"
Orpheus replied, "Kind sir, 'tis neither
Brandy nor whets that brought me hither;
But love, and I an instance can be,
Love is as hot as pepper'd brandy;
Yet, gentle sir, you may command
A tune from a departing hand;
The style and passion both are good,
'Tis The Three Children in the Wood."
He sang; and pains themselves found ease;
For griefs, when well express'd, can please.
When he describ'd the children's loss,
And how the robins cover'd them with moss;
To hear the pity of those birds,
Ev'n Bocai's tears fell down with Orpheus' words.
RUFINUS; OR, THE FAVOURITE1.
IMITATED FROM CLAUDIAN.
OFT, as I wondering stand, a secret doubt Puzzles my reason, and disturbs my thought, Whether this lower world by Chance does move, Or guided by the guardian hand of Jove.
The essay, to which this poem was originally annexed, was written in 1711, as a harsh satire on the duke of Marlborough, dictated perhaps rather by party rage than truth. It is printed in Dr. King's works, vol. ii. p. 280. N.
When I survey the world's harmonious frame,
How Nature lives immutably the same;
How stated bounds and ambient shores restrain
The rolling surges of the briny main;
How constant Time revolves the circling year;
How day and night alternately appear;
Then am I well convinc'd some secret soul,
Some first informing power directs the whole;
Some great intelligence, who turns the spheres,
Who rules the steady motion of the stars,
Who decks with borrow'd light the waning Moon,
And fills with native light th' unchanging Sun,
Who hangs the Earth amidst surrounding skies,
And bids her various fruits in various seasons rise.
But, soon as I reflect on human state,
How blind, how unproportion'd, is our fate;
How ill men, crown'd with blessings, smoothly pass
A golden circle of delightful days;
How good men bear the rugged paths of life,
Condemn'd to endless cares, to endless strife;
Then am I lost again; religion fails;
Then Epicurus' bolder scheme prevails, [dance,
Which through the void makes wandering atoms
And calls the medley world the work of Chance,
Which God's eternal Providence denies,
And feigns him nodding in the distant skies.
At length Rufinus' fate my doubt removes,
And God's existence and his justice proves.
Nor do I longer undeceiv'd complain,
The wicked flourish, and triumphant reign;
Since they to Fortune's heights are rais'd alone,
To rush with greater ruin headlong down.
But here instruct thy bard, Pierian dame,
Whence, and of whom, the dire contagion came.
Alecto's breast with rage and envy glows,
To see the world possess'd of sweet repose.
Down to the dreary realms below she bends,
There summons a cabal of sister fiends;
Thither unnumber'd plagues direct their flight,
The cursed progeny of Hell and Night.
First, Discord rears her head, these of War;
Next, Famine fiercely stalks with haughty air;
Then Age scarce drags her limbs, scarce draws her
breath,
But, tottering on, approaches neighbouring Death;
Here grows Disease, with inbred tortures worn;
There Envy snarls, and others' good does mourn;
There Sorrow sighs, her robe to tatters torn;
Fear skulks behind, and trembling hides her face,
But Rashness headlong thrusts her front of brass;
Then Luxury, Wealth's bane, profusely shines,
Whilst Want, attending in a cloud, repines.
A train of sleepless self-tormenting cares,
Daughters of meagre Avarice, appears;
Who, as around her wither'd neck they cling,
Confess the parent hag from whence they spring.
Here ills of each malignant kind resort,
A thousand monsters guard the dreadful court.
Amidst th' infernal crowd, Alecto stands,
And a deep silence awfully commands;
Then, in tumultuous terms like these, express'd
A passion long had swell'd within her breast:
"Shall we supine permit these peaceful days,
So smooth, so gay, so undisturb'd, to pass?
Shall Pity melt, shall Clemency control,
A Fury's fierce and unrelenting soul?
What do our iron whips, our brands, avail;
What all the horrid implements of Hell;
Since mighty Jove debars us of his skies,
Since Theodosius too his Earth denies :
Such were the days, and so their tenour ran,
When the first happy golden age began:
Virtue and Concord, with their heavenly train,
With Piety and Faith, securely reign;
Nay, Justice, in imperi I pomp array'd,
Boldly explores this ever asting shade;
Me she, insulting, menaces and awes;
Reforms the world, and vindicates her laws.
And shall we then, neglected and forlorn,
From every region banish'd, idly mourn?
Assert yourselves; know what, and whence, you
Attempt some glorious mischief worth your care;
Involve the universe in endless war.
Oh! that I could in Stygian vapour rise,
Darken the Sun, pollute the balmy skies;
Let loose the rivers, dehuge every plain,
Break down the barriers of the roaring main,
And shatter Nature into chaos once again!"
So rag'd the fiend, and toss'd her vipers round,
Which hissing pour'd their poison on the ground.
A murmur through the jarring audience rung,
Different resolves from different reasons sprung.
So when the fury of the storm is past,
When the rough winds in softer murmurs waste;
So sounds, so fluctuates, the troubled sea,
As the expiring tempest plows its way.
Megæra, rising then, address'd the throng,
To whom Sedition, Tumult, Rage, belong:
Whose food is entrails of the guiltless dead,
Whose drink is children's blood by parents shed.
She scorch'd Alcides with a frantic flame,
She broke the bow, the savage world did tame;
She nerv'd the arm, she flung the deadly dart,
When Athamas transfix'd Learchus' heart:
She prompted Agamemnon's monstrous wife
To take her injur'd lord's devoted life:
She breath'd revenge and rage into the son,
So did the mother's blood the sire's atone:
She blinded Oedipus with kindred charms,
Fore'd him incestuous to a mother's arms:
She stung Thyestes, and his fary fed;
She taught him to polluțe a daughter's bed.
Such was her dreadful speech:
"Your schemes not practical nor lawful are, With Heaven and Jove to wage unequal war: But, if the peace of man you would invade, If o'er the ravag'd Earth destruction spread; Then shall Rufinus, fram'd for eve y ill, With your own vengeance execute your will; A prodigy from savage parents sprung, Impetuous as a tigress new with young; Fierce as the hydra, fickle as the flood, And keen as meagre harpies for their food. "Soon as the infant drew the vital air, I first receiv'd him to my nursing care; And often he, when tender yet and young, Cried for the teat, and on my bosom hung: Whilst my horn'd serpents round his visage play'd, His features form'd, and there their venom shed; Whilst I, iufusing, breath'd into his heart Deceit and craft, and every hurtful art; Taught him t'involve his soul in secret clouds, With false dissembling smiles to veil his frauds. "Not dying patriots' tortures can assuage His inborn cruelty, his native rage: Not Tagus' yellow torrent can suffice His boundless and unsated avarice: Nor all the metal of Pactolus' streams, Nor Hermus glittering as the solar beams.
"If you the stratagem propos'd approve, Let us to court this bane of crowns remove. There shall he soon, with his intriguing art, Guide uncontrol'd the willing prince's heart. Not Numa's wisdom shall that heart detend, When the false favourite acts the faithful friend." Soon as she ended, the surrounding crowd With peals of joy the black design applaud.
Now with an adamant her hair she bound,
With a blue serpent girt her vest around;
Then hastes to Phlegethon's impetuous stream,
Whose pitchy waves are flakes of rolling flame;
There lights a torch, and straight, with wings
display'd,
Shoots swiftly through the dun Tartarian glade,
A place on Gallia's utmost verge there lies,
Extended to the sea and southern skies;
Where once Ulysses, as old fables tell,
Invok'd and rais'd th' inhabitants of Hell;
Where oft', with staring eyes, the trembling hind
Sees airy phantoms skim before the wind:
Hence springs the Fury into upper skies,
Infecting all the region as she flies:
She roars, and shakes the atmosphere around,
And earth and sea rebellow to the sound.
Then straight transform'd hersnakes to silver hairs,
And like an old decrepid sage appears;
Slowly she cr. eps along with trembling gait,
Scarce can her languid limbs sustain her weight.
At length, arriving at Rufinus' cell,
Which, from his monstrous birth, she knew so
well,
She mildly thus Hell's darling hope address'd,
Sooth'd his ambition, and inflam'd his breast:
"Can sloth dissolve Rufinus; canst thou pass
Thy sprightly youth in soft inglorious ease?
Know, that thy better fate, thy kinder star,
Does move exalted paths for thee prepare.
If thou an old man's counsel canst obey,
The subject world shall own thy sovereign sway
For my enlight'd soul, my conscious breast,
Of magic's secret science is possess'd.
Oft' have I fore'd, with mystic midnight spells,
Pale spectres from their subterranean cells:
Old Hecaté attends my powerful song,
Powerful to hasten fate, or to prolong;
Powerful the rooted stubborn oak to move,
To stop the thunder bursting from above,
To make the rapid flood's descending stream
Flow backward to the fountain whence it came.
Nor doubt my truth-behold, with just surprise,
An effort of my art-a palace rise."
She said; and, lo! a palace towering seems,
With Parian pillars and metallic beams.
Rufinus, ravish'd with the vast delight,
Gorges his avarice, and giuts his sight.
Such was his transport, such his sudden pride,
When Midas first his golden wish enjoy'd:
But, as his stiffening food to metal turn'd,
He found his rashness, and his ruin mourn'd.
"Be thou or man or god," Rufinus said,
"I follow wheresoe'er thy dictates lead."
Then from his hut he flies, assumes the state
Propounded by the fiend, prepar'd by Fate.
Ambition soon began to lift her head,
Soaring, she mounts with restless pinions spread;
But Justice, conscious, shuns the poison'd air,
Where only prostituted tools repair;
Where Stilico and Virtue not avail;
Where royal favours stand expos'd to sale;
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