Page:Boileau's Lutrin - a mock-heroic poem. In six canto's. Render'd into English verse. To which is prefix'd some account of Boileau's writings, and this translation. (IA boileauslutrinmo00boil).pdf/93

What Pencil can his Indignation draw,
When on his Seat th' aspiring Desk he saw!
Mute, Motionless and Pale a while he stood,
Horror, Surprize and Grief benumb'd his Blood;
But his imprison'd Words at Length resound,
And breaking thro' his Sobs a Passage found.

See Girot! See the Hydra that opprest
My troubl'd Soul, and broke my pleasing Rest!
Behold the Dragon! There he rears his Head,
And buries Me in an Eternal Shade!
Prelate, what have I done? What hellish Rage
Makes thee Ingenious to torment my Age?
What! Can thy waking Malice know no Rest,
Nor Sleep, nor Night lull thy tempestuous Breast?
Oh Fate! must this opprobrious Desk appear,
And cloud me in my proper Hemisphere?

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