The Relapse.
101
Than that, o'er which the Roman Eagle flew;
Like Nero, he's a Fidler, Charioteer,
Or drives his Phaeton, in Female Guise;
Quite unsuspected, till, the Wheel beneath,
His disarray'd Oblation he devours.
He most affects the Forms least like himself,
His slender Self. Hence burly Corpulence
Is his familiar Wear, and sleek Disguise.
Behind the rosy Bloom he loves to lurk,
Or ambush in a Smile; or wanton dive
In Dimples deep; Love's Eddies, which draw in
Unwary Hearts, and sink them in Despair.
Such, on Narcissa's Couch, he loiter'd long
Unknown; and, when detected, still was seen
To smile; such Peace has Innocence in Death!
Most happy they! whom least his Arts deceive.
One Eye on Death, and one full fix'd on Heav'n,
Becomes a Mortal, and Immortal Man.
Long on his Wiles a piqu'd and jealous Spy,
I've seen, or dreamt I saw, the Tyrant dress;
Lay by his Horrors, and put on his Smiles.
Say, Muse, for thou remember'st, call it back,
And shew Lorenzo the surprising Scene,
If 'twas a Dream, his Genius can explain.
'Twas in a Circle of the Gay I stood.
Death would have enter'd; Nature pusht him back;
Supported by a Doctor of Renown,
His Point he gain'd. Then artfully dismist
The Sage; for Death design'd to be conceal'd.
He gave an old vivacious Usurer
His meagre Aspect, and his naked Bones;
In Gratitude for plumping up his Prey,
A pamper'd Spendthrift; whose fantastic Air,
Well-fashioned Figure, and cockaded Brow,
Like Nero, he's a Fidler, Charioteer,
Or drives his Phaeton, in Female Guise;
Quite unsuspected, till, the Wheel beneath,
His disarray'd Oblation he devours.
He most affects the Forms least like himself,
His slender Self. Hence burly Corpulence
Is his familiar Wear, and sleek Disguise.
Behind the rosy Bloom he loves to lurk,
Or ambush in a Smile; or wanton dive
In Dimples deep; Love's Eddies, which draw in
Unwary Hearts, and sink them in Despair.
Such, on Narcissa's Couch, he loiter'd long
Unknown; and, when detected, still was seen
To smile; such Peace has Innocence in Death!
Most happy they! whom least his Arts deceive.
One Eye on Death, and one full fix'd on Heav'n,
Becomes a Mortal, and Immortal Man.
Long on his Wiles a piqu'd and jealous Spy,
I've seen, or dreamt I saw, the Tyrant dress;
Lay by his Horrors, and put on his Smiles.
Say, Muse, for thou remember'st, call it back,
And shew Lorenzo the surprising Scene,
If 'twas a Dream, his Genius can explain.
'Twas in a Circle of the Gay I stood.
Death would have enter'd; Nature pusht him back;
Supported by a Doctor of Renown,
His Point he gain'd. Then artfully dismist
The Sage; for Death design'd to be conceal'd.
He gave an old vivacious Usurer
His meagre Aspect, and his naked Bones;
In Gratitude for plumping up his Prey,
A pamper'd Spendthrift; whose fantastic Air,
Well-fashioned Figure, and cockaded Brow,
He
