THE
DISPENSARY
CANTO III.
LL Night the Sage in Pensive Tumults lay,
Complaining of the slow Approach of Day;
Oft turn'd him round, and strove to think no more
Of what shrill Colon said the Day before.
Cowslips and Poppies o'er his Eyes he spread,
And S——— Works he laid beneath his Head.
But those bless'd Opiats still in vain he tries,
Sleep's gentle Image his Embraces flies.
Tumultuous Cares lay rolling in his Breast,
And thus his anxious Thoughts the Sage exprest.
Oft has this Planet roll'd around the Sun,
Since to consult the Skies I first begun:
Such my Applause, so mighty my Success,
Some granted my Predictions more than Guess.
But
