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66 All by the gate, beneath a pine shade bare, An owl-frequented bowre, some tents were spred; Here sat a Throng, with eager furious stare Rattling the dice; and there, with eyes halfe dead, Some drowsie Dronkards, looking black and red, Dozd out their days: and by the path-way green A sprightlie Troupe still onward heedlesse sped, In chace of butterflies alert and keen; Honours, and Wealth, and Powre, their butterflies I ween.

And oft, disgustfull of their various cares, Into the Cave they wend with sullen pace; Each to his meet apartment dernly fares: Here, all in raggs, in piteous plight most bace, The Dronkard sitts; there, shent with foul disgrace, The thriftlesse Heir; and o'er his reeking blade Red with his Friends heart gore, in woefull cace The Duellist raves; and there, on vetchie bed, Crazd with his vaine pursuits, the Maniack bends his head.