Page:The castle of Indolence - an allegorical poem - Written in imitation of Spenser (IA castleofindolenc00thomiala).pdf/89

 The other was a fell despightful Fiend: Hell holds none worse in baleful Bower below; By Pride, and Wit, and Rage, and Rancour, keen'd; Of Man alike, if good or bad, the Foe: With Nose up-turn'd, he always made a As if he smelt some nauseous Scent; his Eye Was cold, and keen, like Blast from Snow; And Taunts he forth most bitterly.

Even so through Brentford Town, a Town of Mud, An Herd of Swine is prick'd along; The filthy Beasts, that never chew the Cud, Still grunt, and squeak, and sing their troublous Song, And oft they plunge themselves the Mire among: But the ruthless Driver goads them on, And ay of barking Dogs the bitter Throng Makes them renew their unmelodious Moan;