Page:The castle of Indolence - an allegorical poem - Written in imitation of Spenser (IA castleofindolenc00thomiala).pdf/45

 Their only Labour was to kill the Time; And Labour dire it is, and weary Woe. They sit, they loll, turn o'er some idle Rhyme; Then, rising sudden, to the Glass they go, Or saunter forth, with tottering Step and slow: This soon too rude an Exercise they find; Strait on the Couch their Limbs again they throw, Where Hours on Hours they sighing lie reclin'd,

Now must I mark the Villainy we found, But ah! too late, as shall eftsoons be shewn. A Place here was, deep, dreary, under Ground; Where still our Inmates, when unpleasing grown, Diseas'd, and loathsome, privily were thrown. Far from the Light of Heaven, they languish'd there, Unpity'd uttering many a bitter Groan; For of these Wretches taken was no Care: