The drooping Sciences neglected pine,
And Pæan's Beams with fading Lustre shine.
No Readers here with Hectick Looks are found,
Or Eyes in Rheum, thro' midnight-watching drown'd:
The lonely Edifice in Sweats complains
That nothing there but sullen Silence reigns.
This Place so fit for undisturb'd Repose,
The God of Sloth for his Asylum chose.
Upon a Couch of Down in these Abodes,
Supine with folded Arms he thoughtless nods,
Indulging Dreams his Godhead lull to Ease,
With Murmurs of soft Rills, and whisp'ring Trees.
The Poppy and each numbing Plant dispense
Their drowzy Virtue, and dull Indolence.
No Passions interrupt his easie Reign,
No Problems puzzle his Lethargick Brain,
But dark Oblivion guards his peaceful Bed,
And lazy Fogs hang ling'ring o'er his Head.
As at full length the pamper'd Monarch lay
Batt'ning in Ease, and slumb'ring Life away.
A spiteful Noise his downy Chains unties,
Hastes forward, and encreases as it flies.
First, some to cleave the stubborn [1]Flint engage,
Till urg'd by Blows, it sparkles into Rage,
Some temper Lute, some spacious Vessels move;
These Furnaces erect, and Those approve.
- ↑ The Building of the Dispensary.
