In some a gentle horror crept at first O’er all the limbs; the sluices of the skin Withheld their moisture, till by art provok’d The sweats o’erflow’d; but in a clammy tide: 570 Now free and copious, now restrain’d and slow; Of tinctures various, as the temperature Had mix’d the blood; and rank with fetid steams: As if the pent-up humors by delay Were grown more fell, more putrid, and malign. 575 Here lay their hopes (tho’ little hope remain’d) With full effusion of perpetual sweats To drive the venom out. And here the fates Were kind, that long they linger’d not in pain. For who surviv’d the sun’s diurnal race 580 Rose from the dreary gates of hell redeem’d: Some the sixth hour oppress’d, and some the third. Of many thousands few untainted ’scap’d; Of those infected fewer ’scap’d alive: Of those who liv’d some felt a second blow; 585 And whom the second spar’d a third destroy’d. Frantic with fear, they sought by flight to shun The fierce contagion. O’er the mournful land Th’ infected city pour’d her hurrying swarms: Rous’d by the flames that fir’d her seats around, 590 Th’ infected country rush’d into the town. Some, sad at home, and in the desart some, Abjur’d the fatal commerce of mankind; In vain: where’er they fled the Fates pursued. Others, with hopes more specious, cross’d the main, 595 To seek protection in far-distant skies; But none they found. It seem’d the general air Was then at enmity with English blood. For, but the race of England, all were safe In foreign climes; nor did this fury taste 600 The foreign blood which Albion then contain’d. Where should they fly? The circumambient heaven Involv’d them still; and every breeze was bane. Where find relief? The salutary art Was mute; and, startled at the new disease, 605 In fearful whispers hopeless omens gave. To heaven with suppliant rites they sent their pray’rs; Heav’n heard them not. Of every hope depriv’d; Fatigu’d with vain resources; and subdued With woes resistless and enfeebling fear; 610 Passive they sunk beneath the weighty blow. Nothing but lamentable sounds was heard, Nor ought was seen but ghastly views of death; Infectious horror ran from face to face, And pale despair. ’Twas all the business then 615 To tend the sick, and in their turns to die. In heaps they fell: And oft one bed, they say, The sickening, dying, and the dead contain’d.