Which Gratitude shall ne'er forget, Whilst Memory can her force employ, A large increase of every joy. When at my doors, too strongly barr'd, Authority had placed a guard,[255] A knavish guard, ordain'd by law To keep poor Honesty in awe; 320 Authority, severe and stern, To intercept my wish'd return; When foes grew proud, and friends grew cool, And laughter seized each sober fool; When Candour started in amaze, And, meaning censure, hinted praise; When Prudence, lifting up her eyes And hands, thank'd Heaven that she was wise; When all around me, with an air Of hopeless sorrow, look'd despair; 330 When they, or said, or seem'd to say, There is but one, one only way Better, and be advised by us, Not be at all, than to be thus; When Virtue shunn'd the shock, and Pride, Disabled, lay by Virtue's side, Too weak my ruffled soul to cheer, Which could not hope, yet would not fear; Health in her motion, the wild grace Of pleasure speaking in her face, 340 Dull regularity thrown by, And comfort beaming from her eye, Fancy, in richest robes array'd, Came smiling forth, and brought me aid; Came smiling o'er that dreadful time, And, more to bless me, came in rhyme. Nor is her power to me confined; It spreads, it comprehends mankind. When (to the spirit-stirring sound Of trumpets breathing courage round, 350 And fifes well-mingled, to restrain And bring that courage down again; Or to the melancholy knell Of the dull, deep, and doleful bell, Such as of late the good Saint Bride[256] Muffled, to mortify the pride Of those who, England quite forgot, Paid their vile homage to the Scot; Where Asgill held the foremost place, Whilst my lord figured at a race) 360 Processions ('tis not worth debate Whether they are of stage or state) Move on, so very, very slow, Tis doubtful if they move, or no; When the performers all the while Mechanically frown or smile, Or, with a dull and stupid stare, A vacancy of sense declare, Or, with down-bending eye, seem wrought Into a labyrinth of thought, 370 Where Reason wanders still in doubt, And, once got in, cannot get out; What cause sufficient can we find, To satisfy a thinking mind, Why, duped by such vain farces, man Descends to act on such a plan? Why they, who hold themselves divine, Can in such wretched follies join, Strutting like peacocks, or like crows, Themselves and Nature to expose? 380 What cause, but that (you'll understand We have our remedy at hand, That if perchance we start a doubt, Ere it is fix'd, we wipe it out; As surgeons, when they lop a limb, Whether for profit, fame, or whim, Or mere experiment to try, Must always have a styptic by) Fancy steps in, and stamps that real, Which, _ipso facto_, is ideal. 390 Can none remember?--yes, I know,