Good honest Curio elbows the [divine,] And strives, a social sinner, how to shine; The dull quaint tale is his, the lengthen'd tale, That Wilton Farmers give you with their ale: How midnight Ghosts o'er vaults terrific pass, Dance o'er the Grave, and slide along the grass; 80 How Maids forsaken haunt the lonely wood, And tye the Noose, or try the willow flood; How rural Heroes overcame the giants, And through the ramshorn trumpet blew defiance; Or how pale Cicely, within the wood, Call'd Satan forth and bargain'd with her blood. These, honest Curio, are thine, and these Are the dull Treasures of a brain at peace. No wit intoxicates thy gentle skull, Of heavy, native, [unwrought] folly full; 90 Bowl upon Bowl in vain exert their force; The breathing Spirit takes a downward course, Or, vainly soaring upwards to the head, Meets an impenetrable tence of lead. Hast thou, Oh Reader! search'd o'er gentle Gay, Where various animals their powers display? In one strange Group, a chattering race was hurl'd, Led by the Monkey who had seen the world. He, it is said, from woodland shepherds stole, And went to Court, to greet each fellow fool. 100 Like him, Fabricio steals from guardian's side, Swims not in [pleasure's] stream, but sips the tide; He hates the Bottle, yet but thinks it right } To boast next day the honours of the night; } None like your Coward can describe a fight. } See him, as down the sparkling potion goes, Labor to grin away the horrid dose; In joy-feign'd gaze his misty eye-balls float, Th' uncivil Spirit gurgling at his throat; So looks dim Titan through a wintry scene, 110 And faintly cheers the woe-foreboding swain; But now, Alas! the hour, th'increasing flood, Rolls round and round, and cannot be withstood; Thrice he essays to stop the ruby flow, To stem its Force, and keep it still below; In vain his Art, it comes! at [distance] gaze, Ye stancher Sots, and be not near the place. As when a flood from Ossa's pendant brow Rolls rapid to its fellow streams below, It moves tempest'ous down the Mountain's sides, 120 } O'er lesser hills and vales like light'ning glides, } And o'er their beauties fall'n triumphant rides, } Each verdant spot and sunny bank defaces, And forms a minor Ocean at its basis; So from his rueful lips Fabricio pours, With melancholy Force, the tinctur'd showers; O'er the embroider'd vest they take their way, And in the grave its tinsel honours lay. No Nymph was there, to hold the helpless face, Or save from ruin's spoil the luckless lace; 130 No guardian Fair, to turn the head aside And to securer paths the torrent glide;