Ah! in what perils is vain life engag’d! What slight neglects, what trivial faults destroy The hardiest frame! Of indolence, of toil, We die; of want, of superfluity. 520 The all-surrounding heaven, the vital air, Is big with death. And, tho’ the putrid South Be shut; tho’ no convulsive agony Shake, from the deep foundations of the world, Th’ imprisoned plagues; a secret venom oft 525 Corrupts the air, the water, and the land. What livid deaths has sad Byzantium seen! How oft has Cairo, with a mother’s woe, Wept o’er her slaughter’d sons, and lonely streets! Even Albion, girt with less malignant skies, 530 Albion the poison of the Gods has drunk, And felt the sting of monsters all her own. Ere yet the fell Plantagenets had spent Their ancient rage, at Bosworth’s purple field; While, for which tyrant England should receive, 535 Her legions in incestuous murders mix’d, And daily horrors; till the Fates were drunk With kindred blood by kindred hands profus’d: Another plague of more gygantic arm Arose, a monster never known before 540 Rear’d from Cocytus its portentuous head. This rapid fury not, like other pests, Pursued a gradual course, but in a day Rush’d as a storm o’er half th’ astonish’d isle, And strew’d with sudden carcasses the land. 545 First thro’ the shoulders, or whatever part Was seiz’d the first, a fervid vapour sprung. With rash combustion thence, the quivering spark Shot to the heart, and kindled all within; And soon the surface caught the spreading fires. 550 Thro’ all the yielding pores the melted blood Gush’d out in smoaky sweats; but nought assuag’d The torrid heat within, nor aught reliev’d The stomach’s anguish. With incessant toil, Desperate of ease, impatient of their pain, 555 They toss’d from side to side. In vain the stream Ran full and clear, they burnt and thirsted still. The restless arteries with rapid blood Beat strong and frequent. Thick and pantingly The breath was fetch’d, and with huge lab’rings heav’d. 560 At last a heavy pain oppress’d the head, A wild delirium came; their weeping friends Were strangers now, and this no home of theirs. Harass’d with toil on toil, the sinking powers Lay prostrate and o’erthrown; a ponderous sleep 565 Wrapt all the senses up: They slept and died.