Where one eternal Nothing flutters round, And senseless [titt'rings] sense of mirth confound; Or lead me bound to Garret, babel-high, Where frantic Poet rolls his crazy eye; Tiring the Ear, with oft-repeated chimes, And smiling at the never ending rhymes; 200 E'en here or there, I'll be as blest as Jove, Give me tobacco, and the wine I love." Applause from Hands the dying accents break Of stagg'ring sots, who vainly try to speak; From Milo, him who hangs upon each word, And in loud praises splits the tortur'd board, Collects each sentence, ere it's better known, And makes the mutilated joke his own, At weekly club to flourish, where he rules The glorious president of grosser fools. 210 But cease, my Muse; of those or these enough, The fools who listen, and the knaves who Scoff; The jest profane, that mocks th' offended God, Defies his power, and [sets] at nought his rod. The empty Laugh, discretion's vainest foe, From fool to fool re-echo'd to and fro; The sly Indecency, that slowly springs From barren wit, and halts on trembling wings: Enough of these, and all the charms of Wine; Be sober joys and social evenings mine, 220 Where peace and Reason unsoil'd mirth improve, The powers of friendship and the joys of love; Where thought meets thought ere Words its form array, And all is sacred, elegant, and gay; Such pleasure leaves no Sorrow on the mind, Too great to [pall], to sicken too [refin'd], Too soft for Noise, and too sublime for art, The social solace of the feeling Heart, For sloth too rapid, and for wit too high, 'Tis Virtue's Pleasure, and can never die. 230 FOOTNOTES: [3] "But all our praises why should Lords engross? Rise honest Muse and sing the Man of Ross. Pleas'd Vaga echo's, through her winding bounds, And rapid Severn hoarse applause resounds; Who hung with woods, yon mountain's sultry brow? From the dry Rock, who bade the waters flow? Not to the skies in useless columns tost, Nor in proud falls, magnificently lost. But clear and artless, pouring through the plain Health to the Sick, and solace to the Swain." POPE.-- [4] "Integer vitæ, scelerisque [purus] Non eget &c. &c." HORACE. End of PART the SECOND. PART the THIRD.