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“ In dolorous mansion long you must bemoan
“ His fatal charms, and weep your stains away :
“ Till, soft and pure as infant goodness grown,

You feel a perfect change : then, who can say, “ What grace may yet shine forth in heaven's eternal

“ day?"
This said, his powerful wand he wav'd anew :
Instant, a glorious angel-train descends,
The charities, to-wit, of rosy hue;
Sweet love their looks a gentle radiance lends,
And with seraphic flame compassion blends.
At once, delighted, to their charge they ily:
When, lo! a goodly hospital ascends;

In which they bade each lenient aid be nigh,
That could the sick-bed smooth of that sad company.

It was a worthy edifying sight,
And gives to human-kind peculiar grace,
To see kind hands attending day and night,
With tender ministry, from place to place.

prop the head; some from the pallid face Wipe off the faint cold dews weak nature sheds; Some reach the healing draught: the whilst, to

chase The fear supreme, around their soften'd beds, Some holy man by prayer all opening heaven dispreads,

Attended by a glad acclaiming train,
Of those he rescued had from gaping hell,
Then turn’d the knight; and, to his hall again
Soft-pacing, sought of peace the mossy cell :
Yet down his cheeks the gems of pity fell,
To see the helpless wretches that remain'.,
There left through delves and deserts dire to yell;

Amaz'd, their looks with pale dismay were stain’d, And spreading wide their hands they meek repentance


But, ah! their scorned day of grace was past:
For (horrible to tell !) a desert wild
Before them stretch'd, bare, comfortless, and vast;
With gibbets, bones, and carcases defil'd.

There nor trim field, nor lively culture smil'd ;
Nor waving shade was seen, nor mountain fair;
But sands abrupt on sands lay loosely pild,

Through which they foundering toild with painful care, Whilst Phæbus smote them sore, and fir'd the cloudlessair.

Then, varying to a joyless land of bogs,
The sadden'd country a gray waste appear'd;
Where nought but putrid streams and noisome fogs
For ever hung on drizzly Auster's beard ;
Or else the ground by piercing Caurus seard,
Was jagg'd with frost, or heap'd with glazed snow:
Through these extremes a ceaseless round they steerd,

By cruel fiends still hurry'd to and fro,
Gaunt beggary, and scorn, with many hell-hounds moe.
The first was with base dunghill rags yrlad,
Tainting the gale, in which they flutter'd light;
Of morbid hue his features, sunk, and sad;
His hollow eyne shook forth a sickly light;
And o'er his lank jaw-bone, in piteous plight,
His black rough beard was matted rank and vile ;
Direful to see! an heart-appalling sight!

Meantime foul scurf and blotches him defile ;
And dogs, where-e'er he went, still barked all the while.

The other was a fell despightful fiend:
Hell holds none worse in baleful bower below:
By pride, and wit, and rage, and rancour, keen'd;
Of man alike, if good or bad, the foe:
With nose up-turn'd, he always made a show
As if he smelt some nauseous scent ; his

Was cold, and keen, like blast from boreal snow;

And taunts he casten forth most bitterly.
Such were the twain that off drove this ungodly fry.

Ev'n so through Brentford town, a town of mud,
An herd of bristly swine is prick'd along;
The filthy beasts, that never chew the cud,
Still grunt, and squeak, and sing their troublous song,
And oft they plunge themselves the mire among :

the ruthless driver goads them on,
And ay of barking dogs the bitter throng

Makes them renew their unmelodious moan; Ne ever find they rest from their unresting fone.


CASTLE OF DOLENCE. The foregoing poem being writ in the manner of Spenser, the obsolete words, and a simplicity of diction in some of the lines, which borders on the ludicrous, were necessary, to make the imitation more perfect. And the style of that admirable poet, as well as the measure in which he wrote, are, as it were, appropriated by custom to allegorical poems writ in our language; just as in French the style of Marot, who lived under Francis I. has been used in tales and familiar epistles, by the politest writers of the age of Louis XIV. Archimage---the chief or greatest of Nathless---nevertheless. magicians or enchanters.

Neo--nor. Apaid---paid.

Needments---necessaries. Appal---afright.

Noursling---a child that is nursed. Atween---between.

Noyance---harm. Ay---always.

Prankt---coloured, adorned goily. Bale---sorrow, trouble, misfortune. Perdie (Fr.par Dieu)---an old oath. Benempt---named.

Prick'd through the forest---roda Blazon---painting, displaying. through the forest. Breme---cold, raw.

Sear---dry, burnt up. Carol---to sing songs of joy..

Sheen---bright, shining. Caucus--the north-east wind. Sicker---sure, surely. Certes---certainly.

Soot--- sweet, or sweetly. Dan---a word prefixed to names.

Sooth---true, or truth. Deftly---skilfully.

Stound---misfortune, pung, Depainted---painted.

Sweltry---sultry, consuming with Drowsy-head---drowsiness.

beat. Eath---easy.

Swinko-to labour. Eftsoons---immediately, often after- Smackt---favoured. wards.

Thralle--slave. Eke---also.

Transmew'd---transform’d. Fays---fairies.

Vild---vile. Gear or Geer---furniture, equipage, Unkempt (Lat. incomptus) unadress.

dorned. Glaive---sword. (Fr.)

Ween---to think, be of opinion. Glee---joy, pleasure.

Weet---to know; to weet, to wit. Han---bave.

Whilom---ere-while, formerly. Hight---named, called; and some-Wight---man.

times it is used for is called. See Wis, for Wist---to know, think, unstanza vii.

derstand. Idless-Idleness.

Wonne---(a noun) dwelling. Imp---child, or offspring; from the Wroke---wreakt.

Saxon impan, to graft or plant. N. B. The letter r is frequently Kest---for cast.

placed in the beginning of a Lad---for led.

word by Spenser, to lengthen Lea---a piece of land or meadow. it a syllable, and en at the end Libbard---leopard.

of a word, for the same reason, Lig--to lie.

as withouten, casten, &c. Losel---a lo se idle fellow.

Yborn---born. Louting---bouing, bending, Yblent, or blenta-blended, mingled. Lithe---loose, lax.

Yclad.--clad. Mell---mingle.

Ycleped---called, named. Moe---more.

Yfere---togetber. Moil---to labour.

Ymolten-a-melted. Mote---might.

Yode (preter tense of yede) went. Muchel 0. Mochel, much, great.





As when the silk worm, erst the tender care
Of Syrian maidens, 'gins for to unfold
From his sleek sides, that now much sleeker are,
The glossy treasure, and soft threads of gold;
In various turns, and many a winding fold,
He spins his web, and as he spins decays;
Till, within circles infinite enroll'd,

He rests supine, imprison'd in the maze,
The which himself did make, the gathering of his days.

So thou, they say, from thy prolific brain,
A castle, hight of indolence, didst raise;
Where listless sprites, withouten care or pain,
In idle pleasance spend their jocund days,
Nor heed rewarded toil, nor seeken praise.
Thither thou didst repair in luckless hour;
And lulled with thine own enchanting lays,

Didst lie adown, entranced in the bower,
The which thyself didst make, the gathering of thy

But Venus, suffering not her favourite worm
For ay to sleepen in his silky tomb,
Instructs him to throw off his pristine form,
And the gay features of a fly assume;
When, lo! eftsoons from the surrounding gloom,
He vigorous breaks, forth issuing from the wound
His horny beak had made, and finding room,

On new plum'd pinions flutters all around,
And buzzing speaks his joy in most expressive sound.

So may the god of science and of wit,
With pitying eye ken thee his darling son;
Shake from thy fatty sides the slumberous fit,
In which, alas! thou art so woe begone!
Or with his pointed arrows goad thee on;
Till thou refeelest life in all thy veins;
And, on the wings of resolution,

Like thine own hero dight, fliest o'er the plains, Chaunting his peerless praise in never-dying strains.


Hard is the fate of him who loves,

Yet dares not tell his trembling pain,
But to the sympathetic groves,

But to the lonely listening plain.
Oh! when she blesses next your shade,

Oh! when her footsteps next are seen
In flowery tracts along the mead,

In fresher mazes o'er the green,
Ye gentle spirits of the vale,

To whom the tears of love are dear,
From dying lilies waft a gale,

And sigh my sorrows in her ear.
O, tell her what she cannot blame,

Though fear my tongue must ever bind;
Oh, tell her that my virtuous flame

Is as her spotless soul refin’d.
Not her own guardian angel eyes

With chaster tenderness his care,
Not purer her own wishes rise,

Not holier her own sighs in prayer.
But, if, at first, her virgin fear

Should start at love's suspected name,
With that of friendship soothe her ear-

True love and friendship are the same.

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