_Intrigues_ and _Councils_, vary'd _Games_ and _Fights_: Nothing so _long_ as may the Reader _tire_, But all the just well-mingled _Scenes_ admire. Your _Heroe_ may be _virtuous_, must be _brave_; Nothing that's _mean_ should his great Soul enslave: Yet Heav'ns unequal _Anger_ he may _fear_, And for his _suffering Friends_ indulge a _Tear_: Thus when the _Trojans Navy_ scatter'd lay He _wept_, he _trembled_, and to Heav'n did _pray_; But when bright _Glory beckon'd_ from afar, And _Honour_ call'd him out to meet the _War_; Like a fierce _Torrent_ pouring o'er the _Banks_, Or _Mars_ himself, he _thunders_ through the _Ranks_; _Death_ walks before, while he a _Foe_ could find, 810 _Horror_ and _Ruine_ mark long frightful _Lanes_ behind. [Sidenote: _Machines_.] For _worn_ and _old_ MACHINES few Readers care, They're like the _Pastboard Chaos in the Fair_: If ought surprizing you expect to shew, The _Scenes_ if not the _Persons_ should be _new_: With _both_ does MILTON'S wondrous Scheme begin, The _Pandemonium, Chaos, Death_ and _Sin_; Which _D----s_ had with like _Success_ assay'd, } Had not the _Porch_ of _Death's Grim Court_ been made } Too _wide_, and there th' impatient _Reader_ staid. } 820 And _G----h_, tho _barren_ is his _Theme_ and _mean_, By this has _reach'd_ at least the fam'd _Lutrine_. If _tir'd_ with such a plenteous _Feast_ you call For a far meaner _Banquet_, _Meal_ and _Wall_; The _best_ I have is _yours_, tho 'tis too _long_, And what's behind will into _Corners_ throng. A _Place_ there is, if _Place_ 'tis nam'd aright, } Where scatter'd _Rays_ of pale and sickly _Light_, } Fringe o'er the _Confines_ of _Eternal Night_. } _Shorn_ of their _Beams_ the _Sun_ and _Phoebe_ here 830 Like the _fix'd Stars_, through _Glasses_ view'd, appear; Or those faint _Seeds of Light_, which just display Ambiguous Splendor round the _milky Way_; The _Waste_ of _Chaos_, whose _Auguster_ Reign Does those more barren doubtful Realms disdain: Here dwell those _hideous Forms_ which oft repair } To breath our upper _World's_ more _chearful_ Air } Bleak _Envy_, grinding _Pain_, and meagre _Care_; } _Disease_ and _Death_, the _Goddess_ of the _place_, _Death_, the _least frightful Form of all their Race_; 840 _Ambition, Pride_, false _Joys_ and _Hopes_ as vain, _Lewdness_ and _Luxury_ compose her Train: How large their _Interest_, and how vast their _Sway_ Amid the wide invaded Realms of _Day_! Soon would they our frail Race of _Mortals_ end, Did not kind _Heav'n_ auspicious _Succours_ lend; Sweet _Angel-Forms, Peace, Virtue, Health_ and _Love_, How near ally'd, how like to those _above_! These often drive the _Air_, those _Furies_ chace And fetter in their own _infernal Place_: 850