Page:The dispensary - a poem in six canto's (sic) (IA b30356775).pdf/34

Here have I rul'd long undisturb'd with Broils,
And laugh'd at Heroes, and their glorious Toils.
My Annals are in mouldy Mildews wrought,
With easie Insignificance of Thought.
But now some busie, enterprizing Brain $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
Invents new Fancies to renew my Pain,
And labours to dissolve my easie Reign.

With that, the God his darling Phantom calls,
And from his falt'ring Lips this Message falls:

Since Mortals will dispute my Pow'r, I'll try
Who has the greatest Empire, they or I.
Find Envy out, some Prince's Court attend,
Most likely there you'll meet the famish'd Fiend.
Or where dull Criticks Author's Fate foretell;
Or where stale Maids or meager Eunuchs dwell.
Tell the Bleak Fury what new Projects reign,
Among the Homicides of Warwick-Lane.
And what th' Event, unless the strait enclines
To blast their Hopes, and baffle their Designs.

More he had spoke, but sudden Vapours rise,
And with their silken Cords tie down his Eyes.

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