Worn to the bone, and clothed in rags, See Avarice closer hug his bags; With her own weight unwieldy grown, See Credit totter on her throne; 620 Virtue alone, had she been there, The mighty sound, unmoved, could bear. Up from the gorgeous bed, where Fate Dooms annual fools to sleep in state, To sleep so sound that not one gleam Of Fancy can provoke a dream, Great Dulman[232] started at the sound, Gaped, rubb'd his eyes, and stared around. Much did he wish to know, much fear, Whence sounds so horrid struck his ear, 630 So much unlike those peaceful notes, That equal harmony, which floats On the dull wing of City air, Grave prelude to a feast or fair: Much did he inly ruminate Concerning the decrees of Fate, Revolving, though to little end, What this same trumpet might portend. Could the French--no--that could not be, Under Bute's active ministry, 640 Too watchful to be so deceived-- Have stolen hither unperceived? To Newfoundland,[233] indeed, we know Fleets of war unobserved may go; Or, if observed, may be supposed, At intervals when Reason dozed, No other point in view to bear But pleasure, health, and change of air; But Reason ne'er could sleep so sound To let an enemy be found 650 In our land's heart, ere it was known They had departed from their own. Or could his successor, (Ambition Is ever haunted with suspicion) His daring successor elect, All customs, rules, and forms reject, And aim,[234] regardless of the crime, To seize the chair before his time? Or (deeming this the lucky hour, Seeing his countrymen in power, 660 Those countrymen, who, from the first, In tumults and rebellion nursed, Howe'er they wear the mask of art, Still love a Stuart in their heart) Could Scottish Charles---- Conjecture thus, That mental _ignis fatuus_, Led his poor brains a weary dance From France to England, hence to France, Till Information in the shape Of chaplain learned, good Sir Crape, 670 A lazy, lounging, pamper'd priest, Well known at every city feast, For he was seen much oftener there Than in the house of God at prayer; Who, always ready in his place, Ne'er let God's creatures wait for grace, Though, as the best historians write, Less famed for faith than appetite; His disposition to reveal, The grace was short, and long the meal; 680 Who always would excess admit, If haunch or turtle came with it, And ne'er engaged in the defence Of self-denying Abstinence, When he could fortunately meet With anything he liked to eat; Who knew that wine, on Scripture plan, Was made to cheer the heart of man; Knew too, by long experience taught, That cheerfulness was kill'd by thought; 690 And from those premises collected, (Which few perhaps would have suspected)