9 A room he had that faced the southern ray, Where oft he walked to set his thoughts in tune, Pensive he paced its length an hour or tway, All to the music of his creeking shoon. And at the end a darkling closet stood, Where books he kept of old research and new, In seemly order ranged on shelves of wood, And rusty nails and phials not a few: Thilk place a wooden box beseemeth well, And papers squared and trimmed for use unmeet to tell. 10 For still in form he placed his chief delight, Nor lightly broke his old accustomed rule, And much uncourteous would he hold the wight That e'er displaced a table, chair, or stool; And oft in meet array their ranks he placed, And oft with careful eye their ranks reviewed; For novel forms, though much those forms had graced, Himself and maiden-minister eschewed: One path he trod, nor ever would decline A hair's unmeasured breadth from off the even line. 11 A Club select there was, where various talk On various chapters passed the lingering hour, And thither oft he bent his evening walk, And warmed to mirth by wine's enlivening power. And oft on politics the preachments ran, If a pipe lent its thought-begetting fume: And oft important matters would they scan, And deep in council fix a nation's doom: And oft they chuckled loud at jest or jeer, Or bawdy tale the most, thilk much they loved to hear. 12 For men like him they were of like consort, Thilk much the honest muse must needs condemn, Who made of women's wiles their wanton sport, And blessed their stars that kept the curse from them! No honest love they knew, no melting smile That shoots the transports to the throbbing heart! Thilk knew they not but in a harlot's guile Lascivious smiling through the mask of art: And so of women deemed they as they knew, And from a Demon's traits an Angel's picture drew. 13 But most abhorred they hymeneal rites, And boasted oft the freedom of their fate: Nor 'vailed, as they opined, its best delights Those ills to balance that on wedlock wait; And often would they tell of henpecked fool Snubbed by the hard behest of sour-eyed dame. And vowed no tongue-armed woman's freakish rule Their mirth should quail, or damp their generous flame: Then pledged their hands, and tossed their bumpers o'er, And Io! Bacchus! sung, and owned no other power.