THE LOVE OF GAIN: A POEM.
IMITATED FROM THE THIRTEENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL.
Oh! thou sweet King-killer, and dear Divorce
'Twixt natural Son and Sire! thou bright Defiler
Of Hymen's purest Bed! thou valiant Mars!
Thou ever-loved, fresh, young, and delicate Wooer,
Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow
That lies on Dian's lap!
SHAKESPEARE.
By M. G. LEWIS, ESQ. M. P. AUTHOR OF THE MONK, CASTLE-SPECTRE, ETC.
LONDON: PRINTED FOR J. BELL, NO. 148, OXFORD-STREET.
1799.
TO THE HONOURABLE CHARLES JAMES FOX,
THE following Lines are respectfully inscribed, as a trifling Mark of the Veneration in which I hold his Talents and Character, and which his present Retirement from Public Life gives me an Opportunity thus to declare without running the Hazard of subjecting myself to Party Censure.
M. G. LEWIS.
January 28th, 1799.THE LOVE OF GAIN.
JUVENAL.
SATIRE THE THIRTEENTH.
1 EXEMPLO quodcunque malo committitur, ipsi
Displicet auctori. Prima est haec ultio, quod, se
Judice, nemo nocens absolvitur, improba quamvis
Gratia fallaci Praetoris vicerit urna.
5 Quid sentire putas omnes, Calvine, recenti
De scelere, & fidei violatae crimine? sed nec
Tam tenuis census tibi contigit, ut mediocris
Jacturae te mergat onus: nec rara videmus,
Quae pateris. Casus multis hic cognitus, ac jam
Tritus, & è medio Fortunae ductus acervo.
Ponamus nimios gemitus: flagrantior aequo
Non debet dolor esse viri, nec vulnere major.
Tu, quamvis levium minimam, exiguamque malorum
Particulam vix ferre potes, spumantibus ardens
Visceribus, sacrum tibi quod non reddat amicus
Depositum. Stupet haec, qui jam post terga reliquit
Sexaginta annos, Fontejo Consule natus?
An nihil in melius tot rerum proficit usu?
Magna quidem, sacris quae dat praecepta libellis,
Victrix Fortunae Sapientia. Ducimus autem
Hos quoque felices, qui ferre incommoda vitae,
Nec jactare jugum vitâ didicere magistrâ,
23 Quae tam festa dies, ut cesset prodere furem,
Persidiam, fraudes, atque omne ex crimine lucrum
Quaesitum, et partos gladio, vel pyxide nummos?
Rari quippe boni: numerus vix est totidem, quot
Thebarum portae, vel divitis ostia Nili.
Nona aetas agitur, pejoraque secula ferri
31 Nos hominum Divùmque fidem clamore ciemus,
Quanto Faesidium laudat vocalis agentem
Sportula.
33 Die senior bullâ, dignissime, nescis,
Quas habeat Veneres aliena pecunia? nescis,
Quem tua simplicitas risum vulgo moveat, cum
Exigis à quoquam, ne pejeret: & putet ullis
Esse aliquod numen templis, araeque rubenti?
Quondam hoc Indigenae vivebant more, prius quam
Sumeret agrestem posito diademate falcem
Saturnus fugiens. Tunc, cum virguncula Juno,
Et privatus adhuc Idaeis Jupiter antris.
60 Nunc, si depositum non inficietur amicus,
Si reddat veterem cum tota aerugine follem,
Prodigiosa fides, & Tuscis digna libellis,
Quaeque coronatâ lustrari debeat agnâ.
64 Egregium, sanctumque virum si cerno, bimembri
Hoc monstrum puero, vel mirandis sub aratro
Piscibus inventis, & foetae comparo mulae.
71 Intercepta decem quaereris sestertia fraude
Sacrilegâ? quid si bis centum perdidit alter
Hoc arcana modo
75 Tam facile & pronum est superos contemnere testes,
Si mortalis idem nemo sciat! adspice, quanta
Voce neget, quae sit ficti constantia vultus?
86 Sunt in Fortunae qui casibus omnia ponant,
Et nullo credant mundum rectore moveri,
Naturâ volvente vices & lucis, & anni,
Atque ideo intrepidi quaecunque altaria tangunt.
90 Est alius metuens ne crimen poena sequatur.
Hic putat esse Deos, & pejerat, atque ita secum:
92 Decernat quodcumque volet de corpore nostro
Isis, & irato feriat mea lumina sistro,
Dummodo vel coecus teneam, quos abnego, nummos.
100 Ut sit magna, tamen certè Ienta ira Deorum est.
102 —Sed & exorabile Numen
Fortasse experiar. Solet his ignoscere. Multi
Committunt eadem diverso crimina fato.
Ille crucem pretium sceleris tulit, hic diadema.
106 Sic animum dirae trepidum formidine culpae
Confirmant. Tunc te sacra ad delubra vocantem
Praecedit, trahere imo ultro ac vexare paratus.
Nam cùm magna malae superest audacia causae,
Creditur à multis fiducia.
112 Tu miser exclamas, ut Stentora vincere possis,
Vel potiùs quantùm Gradivus Homericus.
120 Accipe quae contrà valeat solatia ferre
Et qui nec Cynicos, nec Stoïca dogmata legit
A Cynicis tunicâ distantia; non Epicurum
Suspicit exigui laetum plantaribus horti.
126 Si nullum in terris tam detestabile factum
Ostendis, taceo, nec pugnis caedere pectus
Te veto, nec planâ faciem contundere palmâ;
Quandoquidem accepto claudenda est janua damno,
Et majore domûs gemitu, majore tumultu
Planguntur nummi, quàm funera.
131 —Nemo dolorem
Fingit in hoc casu, vestem diducere summam
Contentus, vexare oculos humore coacto.
Ploratur lacrymis amissa pecunia veris.
135 Sed si cuncta vides simili fora plena querelâ
Ten' O Delicias extra communia censes
Ponendum; quia tu gallinae filius albae.
143 Rem pateris modicam, & mediocri bile ferendam,
Si flectas oculos majora ad crimina.
157 Haec quota pars scelerum, quae custos Gallicus urbis
Usque à Lucifero, donec lux occidat, audit?
Humani generis mores tibi nosse volenti
Sufficit una domus.
[...] [...] [...]174 Nullane perjuri capitis, fraudisque nefandae
Poena erit? Abreptum crede hunc graviore catenâ
Protinus, & nostro (quid plus velit ira?) necari
177 Arbitrio. Manet illa tamen jactura, nec unquam
Depositum tibi sospes erit. Sed corpore trunco
Invidiosa dabit minimus solatia sanguis.
180 At vindicta bonum vitâ jucundius ipsâ.
189 —Quippe minuti
Semper & infirmi est animi exiguique voluptas,
Ultio.
192 —Cur tamen hos tu
Evasisse putes, quos diri conscia facti
Mens habet attonitos, et surdo verbere caedit,
Occultum quatiente animo tortore flagellum?
197 Poena autem vehemens ac multò saevior illis
Quas & Caeditius gravis invenit aut Rhadamanthus,
Nocte dieque suum gestare in pectore testem.
211 Perpetua anxietas nec mensae tempore cessat,
Faucibus ut morbo siccis, interque molares
Difficili crescente cibo: sed vina misellus
Exspuit.
217 Nocte brevem si fortè indulsit cura soporem,
Et toto versata toro jam membra quiescunt,
Continuò templum, & violati Numinus aras,
Et (quod praecipuis mentem sudoribus urget)
Te videt in somnis. Tua sacra & major imago
Humaná turbat pavidum, cogitque fateri.
223 Hi sunt qui trepidant, & ad omnia fulgura pallent,
Cùm tonat, exanimes primo quoque murmure coeli;
Non quasi fortuitus, nec ventorum rabie, sed,
Iratus cadat in terras, & vindicet ignis.
227 Illa nihil nocuit, curâ graviore timetur
Proxima tempestas; velut hoc dilata sereno.
229 Praetereà, lateris vigili cum febre dolorem
Si coepere pati, missum ad sua corpora morbum
Infesto credunt à Numine; saxa Deorum
232 Haec, & tela putant. Pecudem spondere sacello
Balantem & Laribus cristam promittere galli
Non audent. Quid enim sperare nocentibus aegris
Concessum?
237 Cùm scelus admittunt, superest constantia: quid fas,
Atque nefas, tandem incipiunt sentire peractis
239 Criminibus. Tamen ad mores natura recurrit
Damnatos, fixa & mutari nescia. Nam quis
Peccandi finem posuit sibi! quando recepit
Ejectum semel attritâ de fronte ruborem?
Quisnam hominum est, quem tu contentum videris uno
Flagitio? Dabit in laqueum vestigia noster
Perfidus, & nigri patietur carceris uncum.
248 —Tandemque fatebere laetus
Nec surdum, nec Tiresiam quenquam esse Deorum.
[...]THE LOVE OF GAIN.
EMILIUS—THE AUTHOR.
THE AUTHOR.
THOUGH oft the heart, when raging passions storm,
To Vice we kneel, and fain would veil her form,
Her native darkness ever mocks disguise,
And crimes look foul, e'en in their author's eyes.
Here the first mark of heav'nly vengeance view;
Vice, false to others, to herself is true!
When the pack'd jury, and the quibbled flaw
Delude the eye, and lame the arm of law;
When Erskine's wit the culprit-client saves,
And fraud unscourged offended justice braves; 10
Still is the wretch in private doom'd to hear
From his own heart a verdict more severe.
[Page 5] There dwells a judge, whose voice no bribe can pay,
No party silence, and no flattery sway;
The sinner shrinks, before himself arraign'd,
And almost sorrows, that his cause is gain'd.
Nor does his guilt himself alone disgust;
The world condemns, for here the world is just:
Unpunish'd crimes still shock the public ear,
And crimes unpunish'd doubly foul appear.20
Then why, Emilius, thus in furious strain
Of broken faith, and laws corrupt complain?
Less warmth, my testy friend; more justly sound
Your injury's depth, nor call your scratch a wound.
With plenteous store by Fortune's bounty blest,
Of bonds, and stock, and fertile lands possest,
Your loss is trifling, and so trite your case,
Scarce in the public prints 'twill find a place.
While, then, we mark your breast with passion rise,
Your trembling lips, clench'd hands, and flashing eyes,30
When ask'd the cause, how poor the answer sounds,
"A friend is false! I've lost a thousand pounds."—
[Page 7] A friend is false? Does that amaze the eye
Which lately saw its sixtieth year go by?
Has age then bleach'd your raven locks in vain,
Impair'd your limbs, and not matur'd your brain?
Oh! mourn your dross no more: with tears lament
Your mind unfurnish'd, and your time mispent.
Blest is the man, whom philosophic lore
Beyond proud Fortune's reach has taught to soar; 40
Who, when she frowns, her falshood not reviles,
Nor boasts her favour when the harlot smiles.
Nor him less happy count, whose years have bought
Precious experience, and deep-searching thought,
Wisdom to know all bliss is insecure,
Courage to hope, and patience to endure.
Say, loud complainant, does the rolling year
Present one day from fraud or knavery clear,
Whose spotless White no thefts, no murders stain,
Writing in blood man's damning lust for gain?50
In vain you search:—yet still the search pursue,
Examine men, and find of good how few!
[Page 9] So few, alas! that if that guilt to fly
Which daily, hourly, here disgusts the eye,
The just resolv'd to leave the British strand,
And seek some distant less polluted land,
The whole fair troop away with ease might bear
My lord-mayor's barge, and still have room to spare.
Now let the iron age no more be blam'd;
Blest should its memory be, when ours is nam'd,60
For which no bard can find in nature's page
So base a metal as would mark the age!
Yet though ourselves still sin, not less we blame
Our neighbour's sin, and, when he errs, exclaim
Louder than fishwives scold, or asses bray,
Or Vapid puffs his own dry dull damn'd play!
All-hail, mouth-virtue! at your altar bend
Each canting hypocrite, and perjur'd friend;
Spare Lovegold sees his houshold god in you,
Who cost no sixpence, and who seem Peru!70
Boy-witted Elder! must thou still be told,
No sorcerer's spell can witch an heart like gold?
[Page 11] That in each guinea conqu'ring Cupids swarm,
And Venus less than good King George can charm?
Hear you not, how the rude but wiser crowd
Mock your simplicity with laughter loud,
When raving about faith, and virtuous dread,
And lightnings destin'd for each perjur'd head,
You hope the traitor (by your threats dismay'd)
Will keep the promise, which he can evade?80
If such things were, 'twas sure ere Adam fell,
Or Eve lost Eden for a nonpareil!
But now a debt if some strange man should own,
When neither bond or witness prove the loan,
To mark an act so just, and truth so rare,
His marble form should grace some public square,
And his name blazon'd in the historic page,
Attest that one good man adorn'd our age.
For me, whene'er such acts of faith I hear,
Lost in amaze, and trusting scarce mine ear,90
"Let all," I cry, "to view this wonder run,
"And Pidcock * own his rarities outdone.
[Page 13] "Mourn, hapless Pidcock, mourn! your reign is o'er;
"In vain your eagles scream, and tigers roar;
"The crowds, who erst to view your monsters ran,
"Now seek a rarer sight, an honest man!
"What drinks, what eats he? for I ne'er can think,
"Like common mortals he can eat or drink.
"How speaks, how walks he? ere I sleep to-night,
"On this rare creature I must feast my sight."100
And when, at length, this wonder I behold,
Amaz'd to find him cast in human mould,
I'm vex'd that like ourselves on earth he treads,
And scarce believe he hasn't got two heads.
But say, Emilius, if a wrong thus slight
So wounds thy feelings and disgusts thy sight,
How wouldst thou rave, if Fraud's glib tongue had found
The means to 'reave thee of thy last poor pound;
Or how support a friend's more guilty stealth,
When loss of freedom follows loss of wealth?110
Turn to yon prison! list yon captive's tale,
Who rashly stood his smooth-tongu'd brother's bail:
[Page 15] Pent in those walls, the wretch all hope resigns,
Now wildly raves, and now dejected pines;
While his free life abroad the debtor spends,
Enjoys new pleasure, and defrauds new friends.
EMILIUS.
Oh! but my wretch so wondrous well deceiv'd,
Suspicion's self had sure his faith believ'd!
He swore such oaths!.....
THE AUTHOR.
He swore! did that prevail,
And wert thou blinded by a trick so stale?120
Oaths now are trifles few refuse to take,
Easy to form, and easier still to break;
Their perjur'd vows but few with horror scan;
But few fear heavenly wrath, if safe from man,
Or shuddering think, their guilt that angels know,
The secret sin a secret still below.
Mark'd you, when late your cause in court was tried,
And your false friend his lawful debt denied,
One slight convulsion, or one transient blush
Bid his lip quiver, or his forehead flush?130
[Page 17] Falter'd his tongue, when, lost all sacred fear,
On God he call'd to prove his words sincere;
And wish'd, if just your charge, to curse his sin
Flames might consume himself and all his kin?
No! such his earnest air, and changeless face,
Each word, each look such candour seem'd to grace,
So firm his voice, so bold and clear his eye,
Yourself could scarce believe his tale a lye!
EMILIUS.
'Tis true! 'tis true! with horror struck I heard
The unblushing villain speak the damning word.140
Gods! how can man thus brave celestial ire,
While heaven has justice, and while hell has fire!
THE AUTHOR.
Alas! my friend, an awful truth to tell,
There are, who scorn that heaven, and mock that hell.
In vain for these alternate seasons reign,
Spring robes the fields, and Autumn swells the grain;
In vain the moon now gilds the brow of night,
And now the sun pours floods of glorious light:
[Page 19] "'Twas chance," they cry, "to those fair orbs gave birth,
"And chance alone with produce bless'd the earth!"150
Then boldly on the sacred book they lay
Their lips to swear some good man's wealth away,
And while his spoils their ravish'd eyes bewitch,
Laugh at poor rogues, less impious and less rich.
Others, whom timid guilt forbids to climb
Those dreadful heights where Atheists soar sublime,
Own that a Power Supreme exists on high,
But while they own a power, that power defy.
To these the priest inspir'd describes in vain
Each promis'd pleasure, and each threaten'd pain:160
Heaven's future joys their notice scarce seem worth,
Wealth in this world, their present heaven on earth,
Nor fear they to deserve the Eternal's curse,
Hell bad, 'tis true, but want of money worse!
"Let wrath divine," thus Gripe in transport cries,
"Curse every limb, and quench my blasted eyes,
"If still harmonious sounds mine ears may drink,
"While in yon chest my counted guineas chink,
[Page 21] "And still my palsied hands have power to hold,
"Close to my heart, this bag of darling gold!170
"What! shall I fear, indignant Heaven to see
"Its magazine of plagues exhaust on me?
"What! shall I mourn the bargain made, if wealth
"I buy with loss of fame, and loss of health?
"No, still with glad content my heart shall beat,
"Though tortures rack my hands, my eyes, my feet,
"If hoards of gold my bursting coffers fill,
"Gold, which can soothe each pang, each fear can still,
"Comfort for every care, and balm for every ill!
"Yet why these fears? Celestial wrath, we know,180
"Though just, is merciful; though fierce, is slow:
"Perhaps too, when arrives the avenging hour,
"Repentant prayers may calm Heaven's angry power;
"Nor always in the world's vast book we find
"To equal sin an equal doom assigned.
"Here see with honours crown'd, there'whelm'd with grief,
"The Indian spoiler, and the English thief;
"And mark, what varying fates their plunders stop
"Who robb'd a nation, and who robb'd a shop.
[Page 23] "Rascals alike, by Fortune's wayward sport 190
"One goes to Tyburn, t'other goes to Court;
"And while this rogue is doom'd in air to swing,
"That for a peerage kneels to thank the King."
The sophist's fears thus calm'd, the legal war
No more he dreads, but dauntless seeks the bar,
Arrives before you, wonders why you stay,
And cries—"Sure conscience makes the wretch delay!"
Caught by his tranquil air and front of brass,
(Oft does for innocence assurance pass)
The judge declares your charge must groundless be,200
Its malice blames, and sets the prisoner free;
While you with fiercer rage assert your cause,
And term the judge corrupt, unjust the laws,
Than Sappho felt when Drury damn'd her work,
Or Gallia's struggles rais'd in zealous Burke!
Yet now, Emilius, let my prayers assuage
Awhile this flood of grief, this storm of rage,
Nor scorn my counsel, though from one it flows,
Whose life few years, whose brain small judgment knows:
And boyish griefs with boyish counsels fit.
When amputation risques a patient's life,
Some skilful hand should guide the surgeon's knife;
But who to bleed him Farquhar need retain,
When the next barber's boy could breathe the vein?
Mark then!—If what you mourn, were some dire ill
No partner suffer'd, and no time could still;
If some strange curse, some plague to nature new,
On you had fall'n, and fall'n on none but you,
No word of mine should mock your publish'd pain,220
Or strive to bind your wrath in reason's chain.
Who knows the human heart, must also know
How keen the pangs which make your sorrows flow:
Not with those sighs, which heave the nephew's heart,
Who sees his hoarding uncle's life depart;
Not with those tears, which custom bids be shed
By youthful widows for old husbands dead;
Grieve they, who dear departing wealth behold,
And mourn, not loss of friends, but loss of gold.
They need no onion to provoke their eyes;
No!—Lost that idol most adored and dear,
Heart-felt despair, wild rage, and grief sincere
Burst in each bitter sigh, gush in each scalding tear.
Yet sure, my friend, 'tis wrong, unusual rage
To feel at crimes so usual in this age,
Unless your lot by fate you hoped design'd
Free from all crosses common to mankind.
Alas! ere beat your breast, ere rent your hair,
Weigh, what you bear yourself, what others bear.240
No pangs are yours past man's, past Heaven's relief,
No mighty mischiefs move this mighty grief;
Search but the world, then own your wrongs how small
Placed near those wrongs on other heads which fall.
Must I attest the fact? To prove how Vice
Reigns sovereign here, one house can well suffice.
To Bow-street turn!*—
Ye giddy, gay, and proud,
Who swell great London's ever-bustling crowd,
[Page 29]London, where all extremes together meet,
Folly's chief throne, and Wisdom's gravest seat; 250
Where disagreements in agreement lie,
Our close-knit mass of contrariety;
Where throng the rich and poor, the fool and knave,
Where statesmen juggle, and where patriots rave;
Where balls for advocates prepare their work,
And embryo law-suits in a whisper lurk;
Where Cupid pays in specie for his wiles,
And judges frown whene'er a lady smiles;
Where equal farce continual sport affords
At Covent-Garden, or the House of Lords; 260
Where beggars with feigned tears and ready smiles,
Cringe to St. James, or blubber to St. Giles;
Ye who confusedly sail in motley trim
Down this full flood of pleasure, business, whim,
Whether you frame smooth, glib, and specious lies
To cheat a tradesman, or to raise supplies,
With private or with public misery sport,
Cheats upon 'Change, or Parasites at Court,
[Page 31]Now pause awhile!—For one reflecting hour
Forego your hopes of gain, your dreams of power,270
And hark, while tells the Muse what monstrous crimes,
What new-found sins reserv'd for our strange times,
Their hideous forms to Addington betray,
From morn's first languish to the death of day.
Here mark the thankless child, the unnatural sire,
The Pandar slave who lets his spouse for hire,
The adulterous friend, the trusted wanton wife,
The brother aiming at the brother's life,
The rake who cools in beauty's arms his heat,
Then lets her starve, or ply for bread the street,280
And that dark train of foes to moral rules,
Thieves, Bawds, Assassins, Gamblers, Knaves, and Fools,
Fools, who would fain be knaves ...... No more I'll write,
Hence, odious forms, nor longer shock my sight!
Else by disgust and scorn to madness driven,
Bursting those chains which bind my soul to Heaven,
I shall disdain to breathe such tainted air,
Shall blush an human form like these to wear,
[Page 33]For present ease shall barter future bliss,
And sure no world can be more black than this,290
Deep in my swelling heart shall plunge the knife,
And cry, while flies my soul from mortal strife,
"Heaven bless my father, though he gave me life!"
Cease, wild enthusiast! end thy angry tale,
O'er human frailties drop compassion's veil;
View them with grief, not rage, nor dare to scan
With censure too severe thy fellow-man!
Think, had no parent watch'd thy pliant youth,
Curb'd thy wild passions, turn'd thy steps to Truth,
And taught thee by her radiant light to know 300
That bliss is virtue, and that guilt is woe,
Spurning restraint, and scorn'd each sacred vow,
Haply thyself had been what these are now;
These, who by headstrong passions forc'd away,
Or pressing want, or strong example's sway,
Strangers to love of man, or fear of God,
But trod perhaps those paths their parents trod,
While ignorance led them to that whirlpool's brink,
Where long they struggled, and where now they sink!
Oh! view their lot, my soul, nor more repine 310
To bear those evils Fate has fix'd on mine;
Content, though many a grief my bosom wrings,
If still that bosom owns no conscious stings,
If still I know for others wounds to feel,
With pity view them, and with pleasure heal,
And still those pangs which cause so keen a smart,
Nor sour my temper, nor deprave my heart.
Yes! though by fate with heaviest sorrows curst,
From my pale lips no murmuring breath should burst,
If still my hand had power to raise the opprest,320
And, though unblest myself, make others blest!
That power, Emilius, still is yours!—Then why
Thus pants your bosom, and thus flames your eye?
Your gold, though lost.....
EMILIUS.
......Nay, 'tis not gold which makes
This fury tear me; but my bile it shakes,
That still my lawful suit in vain I urge,
And still yon caitiff mocks the avenging scourge!
[Page 37] Could I but once his well-earn'd sufferings see!....
THE AUTHOR.
And would his sufferings then bring wealth to thee?
Would with his blood gold to thy coffers run,330
Or all his groans repay thee one pound one?
EMILIUS.
Not so; but vengeance.....
THE AUTHOR.
......Hush!—To mention fear
What thou must shame to speak, I shame to hear!
Base minds alone delight in vengeance find,
That low vile passion of a low vile mind!
Oh! think, when summoned to the throne of Heaven,
As thou forgav'st, so thou shalt be forgiven!
And think, what pangs would rack each throbbing nerve,
If God should judge us, as our faults deserve!
Say, at this moment should the perjur'd wretch,340
Stung with remorse, his hands imploring stretch
Tow'rds thee for pardon, while with tears and groans
Thy foot he kisses, and his guilt he owns,
[Page 39] Should that foot spurn him? Would'st thou frown, and cry
"Back, sinner, to the flames thou fain would'st fly!"
'Twere nobler far, thy thirst of vengeance o'er,
To bid the sinner rise, and sin no more;
'Twere nobler far to play the Christian's part,
Aid struggling Conscience to secure his heart,
Confirm his faith, with hope inspire his breast,350
And make him virtuous now, hereafter blest.
Then, when thou died'st, the transport thine would be
Proudly to boast—"God owes a soul to me!"
But if revenge alone can please you, know,
E'en now, though law was blind, though justice slow,
More pangs he feels, his heart by conscience rent,
Than you could name, or mortal brain invent.
True, from his lips no 'plaints inform the crowd
What pains are his — deep are his groans, not loud*;
True, from his eyes no streams of anguish roll,360
His burning tears fall inwards on his soul:
There brood thy vipers, Conscious Guilt, and dart
With ceaseless spite their fangs into his heart;
[Page 41] There prints with bloodless stroke thy silent steel
Wounds, that no balm can ease, no time can heal!
Not all the pangs which Dante's visions swell,
No freezing limbo, and no fiery hell,
Surpass his torments, who still bears unblest
A self-accuser in his own sad breast.
Disgust, and ceaseless Care, and anxious Fear 370
Still share his bed, and at his board appear.
In vain his Cooks their various arts combine
Each dish to season, and each sauce refine;
Champagne's rich grape in vain, to chear his soul,
With brilliant bubbles fills his chrystal bowl:
The harpy Conscience pounces on her prey*,
Tears from his hand the untasted food away,
And, ere the wine his pallid lips can pass,
Her gall-fraught tongue drops poison in his glass.
Next mark, my friend, his slumbers!—If Repose 380
Lists to his suit, and bids his eye-lids close,
Mark what convulsions heave his martyr'd breast,
And frequent starts, and heart-drawn sighs attest,
Though Nature grants him sleep, that Guilt denies him rest.
Now groans of tortur'd ghosts his ear affright;
Now ghastly phantoms dance before his sight;
And now he sees (and screams in frantic fear)
To size gigantic swell'd thy angry shade appear!
Swift at thy summons rush with hideous yell
Their prey to seize the Denizens of hell!390
Headlong they hurl him on some ice-rock's point,
Mangle each limb, and dislocate each joint;
Or plunge him deep in blue sulphureous lakes;
Or lash his quivering flesh with twisted snakes;
Or in his brain their burning talons dart;
Or from his bosom rend his panting heart
To bathe their fiery lips in guilty gore!—
Then starts he from his couch, while dews of horror pour
Down his dank forehead—wrings his hands, and prays to sleep no more.
Hark! the Storm-daemon shrieks!—It thunders!—Lo!400
How pale his cheeks, how wild his eye-balls grow,
Heard the first murmur; while he waits the crash,
And dreads to see the etherial meteors flash.
No shock of clouds, he thinks, no casual hand
Rolls the red bolt, or darts th' avenging brand;
'Tis Heaven's own voice in thunder bids him die,
And 'tis to blast him yon blue lightnings fly!
His fears were vain; the storm disperses;—true,
But who can answer what the next may do?
Though now sweet nature sleeps, and skies are fair,410
Soon gathering clouds again may gloom the air;
Soon shafts divine, winged by celestial breath,
Again may glare, and the next shaft brings death!
With ceaseless fears and conscious pangs opprest
By day, by night unknown one hour of rest,
Wasted his limbs, his strength and spirits fled,
Disease now chains him on her thorny bed.
The couch in crowds though Galen's sons surround,
His dire complaints deride their skill profound;
[Page 47] No med'cine brings relief, no pang is eas'd,420
For who can medicine to a mind diseas'd*?
Heaven's Lord alone!—"And shall I dare invoke
"With prayers that Power, whose holiest law I broke?
"In heaven still fresh my violated vow,
"Will angels heed my forced repentance now?
"Hence, idle thought! no prayers can now obtain
"Aid from insulted Heaven, and man's is vain!"
Thus cries the wretch, distraction in his eye,
Hopeless to live, yet unprepared to die;
By fear his soul, by pain his body vext,430
By conscience tortured, and by doubt perplext,
Loathing this world, and shuddering at the next.
Yet though his old offence thus brands with shame
His conscious forehead, and unmans his frame,
[Page 49] When some new sin excites his impious zeal,
His heart is adamant, his nerves are steel:
Nor think, your perjur'd friend, reform'd by time,
Will bound his forfeits to this single crime.
The rose of innocence, once rent away,
No more shall grace his brow. And who can say,440
"One step, and then no further?"—This first sin
Crown'd with success, ere long his feet shall win
To loftier heights of vice, and urge his fate
From bad to worse, from little crimes to great,
Till his broad guilt for public vengeance calls,
And to the laws his life a victim falls.
Then shalt thou own (and blush at thy mistrust),
Crimes still are punish'd, and God still is just!
Here break we off!—Speed thou to Lombard-street,
Or plod the gambling 'Change with busy feet,450
'Midst Bulls and Bears some false report to spread,
Of Prussia armed, or Buonaparte dead,
From specious lies an honest gain to draw,
And spoil some wretch in forms allowed by law;
[Page 51] More dupes to find, more knavish tricks to learn,
And fooled thyself, fool others in thy turn:
While I, sequestered in some favourite nook,
Or guide the pencil, or explore the book,
Blest, if still free from mad Ambition's dreams,
Youth's vain rash hopes, and Interest's fordid schemes,460
I sometimes hear, to chear my lonely hours,
The Muse awake her lute's harmonious powers,
And still can boast (when down life's vale I bend
My steps, nor grieved, nor glad my days to end),
A feeling heart, an open hand, content, and one true friend.
FINIS.