Deem’d falsely, for from Folly’s ideot form He sprung, what time Madness, with furious hand, Seiz’d on the laughing female. At one birth She brought the brethren, menial here, above Reigning with sway supreme, and oft they hold High revels: mid the Monastery’s gloom, The sacrifice is spread, when the grave voice Episcopal, proclaims approaching day Of visitation, or Churchwardens meet To save the wretched many from the gripe Of eager Poverty, or mid thy halls Of London, mighty Mayor! rich Aldermen, Of coming feast hold converse. Otherwhere, For tho’ allied in nature as in blood, They hold divided sway, his brother lifts His spungy sceptre. In the noble domes Of Princes, and state-wearied Ministers, Maddening he reigns; and when the affrighted mind Casts o’er a long career of guilt and blood Its eye reluctant, then his aid is sought To lull the worm of Conscience to repose. He too the halls of country Squires frequents, But chiefly loves the learned gloom that shades Thy offspring Rhedycina! and thy walls, Granta! nightly libations there to him Profuse are pour’d, till from the dizzy brain Triangles, Circles, Parallelograms, Moods, Tenses, Dialects, and Demigods, And Logic and Theology are swept By the red deluge. Unmolested there He reigns; till comes at length the general feast, Septennial sacrifice; then when the sons Of England meet, with watchful care to chuse Their delegates, wise, independent men, Unbribing and unbrib’d, and cull’d to guard Their rights and charters from the encroaching grasp Of greedy Power: then all the joyful land Join in his sacrifices, so inspir’d To make the important choice. The observing Maid Address’d her guide, “These Theodore, thou sayest Are men, who pampering their foul appetites, Injured themselves alone. But where are they, The worst of villains, viper-like, who coil Around the guileless female, so to sting The heart that loves them?” “Them,” the spirit replied, A long and dreadful punishment awaits. For when the prey of want and infamy, Lower and lower still the victim sinks, Even to the depth of shame, not one lewd word, One impious imprecation from her lips Escapes, nay not a thought of evil lurks In the polluted mind, that does not plead Before the throne of Justice, thunder-tongued Against the foul Seducer.” Now they reach’d The house of Penitence. Credulity Stood at the gate, stretching her eager head As tho’ to listen; on her vacant face, A smile that promis’d premature assent; Tho’ her Regret behind, a meagre Fiend, Disciplin’d sorely. Here they entered in, And now arrived where, as in study tranced, She sat, the Mistress of the Dome. Her face Spake that composed severity, that knows No angry impulse, no weak tenderness, Resolved and calm. Before her lay that Book That hath the words of Life; and as she read, Sometimes a tear would trickle down her cheek, Tho’ heavenly joy beam’d in her eye the while. Leaving her undisturb’d, to the first ward Of this great Lazar-house, the Angel led