But 'tis in vain to rave at destiny: Here he must rest and brook the best he can, To live remote from grandeur, learning, wit; Immured amongst th' ignoble, vulgar herd, Of lowest intellect; whose stupid souls But half inform their bodies; brains of lead And tongues of thunder; whose insensate breasts Ne'er felt the rapturous, soul-entrancing fire Of the celestial Muse; whose savage ears 70 Ne'er heard the sacred rules, nor even the names Of the Venusian bard, or critic sage Full-famed of Stagyra: whose clamorous tongues Stun the tormented ear with colloquy, Vociferate, trivial, or impertinent; Replete with boorish scandal; yet, alas! This, this! he must endure, or muse alone, Pensive and moping o'er the stubborn rhyme, Or line imperfect--No! the door is free, And calls him to evade their deafening clang, 80 By private ambulation;--'tis resolved: Off from his waist he throws the tatter'd gown, Beheld with indignation; and unloads His pericranium of the weighty cap, With sweat and grease discolour'd: then explores The spacious chest, and from its hollow womb Draws his best robe, yet not from tincture free Of age's reverend russet, scant and bare; Then down his meagre visage waving flows The shadowy peruke; crown'd with gummy hat 90 Clean brush'd; a cane supports him. Thus equipp'd He sallies forth; swift traverses the streets, And seeks the lonely walk.--'Hail, sylvan scenes, Ye groves, ye valleys, ye meandering brooks, Admit me to your joys!' in rapturous phrase, Loud he exclaims; while with the inspiring Muse His bosom labours; and all other thoughts, Pleasure and wealth, and poverty itself, Before her influence vanish. Rapt in thought, Fancy presents before his ravish'd eyes 100 Distant posterity, upon his page With transport dwelling; while bright learning's sons That ages hence must tread this earthly ball, Indignant, seem to curse the thankless age, That starved such merit. Meantime swallow'd up, In meditation deep, he wanders on, Unweeting of his way.--But, ah! he starts With sudden fright! his glaring eyeballs roll, Pale turn his cheeks, and shake his loosen'd joints; His cogitations vanish into air, 110 Like painted bubbles, or a morning dream. Behold the cause! see! through the opening glade, With rosy visage, and abdomen grand, A cit, a dun!--As in Apulia's wilds, Or where the Thracian Hebrus rolls his wave, A heedless kid, disportive, roves around, Unheeding, till upon the hideous cave On the dire wolf she treads; half-dead she views His bloodshot eyeballs, and his dreadful fangs, And swift as Eurus from the monster flies. 120 So fares the trembling bard; amazed he turns, Scarce by his legs upborne; yet fear supplies The place of strength; straight home he bends his course,