And sees it lurking in the cold Catarrh: Bilious by some, by others nervous seen, Rage the fantastic Dæmons of the Spleen; And every Symptom of the strange Disease With every System of the Sage agrees. Ye frigid Tribe, on whom I wasted long The tedious Hours and ne’er indulg’d in Song; Ye first Seducers of my easy Heart, Who promis’d Knowledge, ye could not impart; Ye dull Deluders, Truth’s destructive Foes; Ye Sons of Fiction, clad in stupid Prose; Ye treacherous Leaders, who, yourselves in doubt, Light up false Fires and send us far about;-- Still may yon Spider round your Pages spin, Subtle and slow, her emblematic Gin! Buried in Dust and lost in Silence, dwell, Most potent, grave, and reverend Friends--Farewell! Near these, and where the setting Sun displays, Through the dim Window, his departing Rays, And gilds yon Columns, there on either side, The huge Abridgements of the LAW abide; Fruitful as Vice the dread Correctors stand, And spread their guardian Terrors round the Land; Yet, as the best that human Care can do, Is mixt with Error, oft with Evil too; Skill’d in Deceit, and practis’d to evade, Knaves stand secure, for whom these Laws were made: And Justice vainly each expedient tries, While Art eludes it, or while Power defies. “Ah! happy Age,” the youthful Poet sings, “When the free Nations knew not Laws nor Kings; When all were blest to share a common Store, And none were proud of Wealth, for none were poor; No Wars, nor Tumults vex’d each still Domain, No thirst of Empire, no desire of Gain; No proud Great Man, nor one who would be great, Drove modest Merit from its proper State; Nor into distant Climes would Avarice roam, To fetch Delights for Luxury at Home. Bound by no ties which kept the Soul in awe, They dwelt at liberty, and Love was Law!” “Mistaken Youth! each Nation first was rude, Each Man a cheerless Son of Solitude, To whom no Joys of Social life were known, None felt a Care that was not all his own; Or in some languid Clime his abject Soul Bow’d to a little Tyrant’s stern controul; A Slave, with Slaves his Monarch’s Throne he rais’d, And in rude Song his ruder Idol prais’d; The meaner Cares of Life were all he knew, Bounded his Pleasures, and his Wishes few: But when by slow degrees the Arts arose, And Science waken’d from her long Repose; When Commerce, rising from the Red of Ease, Ran round the Land and pointed to the Seas; When Emulation, born with jealous Eye, And Avarice, lent their Spurs to industry; Then one by one the numerous Laws were made, Those to controul, and these to succour Trade; To curb the Insolence of rude Command, To snatch the Victim from the Usurer’s hand; To awe the Bold, to yield the Wrong’d redress, And feed the Poor with Luxury’s excess.”