Page:The dispensary - a poem in six canto's (sic) (IA b30356775).pdf/100

 In the close Covert of a Cypress Grove, Where Goblins frisk, and airy Spectres rove, Yawns a dark Cave, with awful Horror wide, And there the Monarch's Triumphs are descry'd. Confus'd, and wildly huddled to the Eye The Beggar's Pouch, and Prince's Purple lye. Dim Lamps with sickly Rays scarce seem to glow; Sighs heave in mournful Moans, and Tears o'er-flow. Restless Anxiety, forlorn Despair, And all the faded Family of Care Old mouldring Urns, Racks, Daggers and Distress Make up the frightful Horror o' the Place.

Within its dreadful Jaws those Furies wait, Which execute the harsh Decres of Fate. Febris is first: The Hag relentless hears The Virgin's Sighs; and sees the Infant's Tears. In her parch'd Eye-Balls fiery Meteors reign; And restless Ferments revel in each Vein.

Then Hydrops next appears amongst the Throng; Bloated, and big, she slowly fails along. But, like a Miser, in Excess she's poor; And pines for Thirst amidst her wat'ry Store.

Now loathsom Lepra, that offensive Spright, With foul Eruptions stain'd, offends the Sight. Still deaf to Beauty's soft persuading Pow'r: Nor can bright Hebe's Charms her Bloom secure.

Whilst meager Pthisis gives a silent Blow; Her Stroaks are sure; but her Advances slow.