Page:The dispensary - a poem in six canto's (sic) (IA b30356775).pdf/101

 No loud Alarms, nor fierce Assaults are shown: She starves the Fortress first; then takes the Town, Behind stood Crouds of much inferior Name, Too num'rous to repeat too foul to name; The Vassals of their Monarch's Tyranny: Who, at his Nod, on fatal Errands fly.

Now Celsus, with his glorious Guide, invades The silent Region of the fleeting Shades: Where Rocks and ruful Desarts are descry'd; And sullen Styx rolls down his lazy Tide. Then shews the Ferry-man the Plant he bore, And claims his Passage to the further Shore. To whom the Stygian Pilot smiling, said, You need no Pass-port to demand our Aid. Physicians never linger on this Strand: Old Charon's, present still at their Command. Our awful Monarch and his Confort owe To them the Peopling of their Realms below. Then in his swarthy Hand he grasp'd his Oar, Receiv'd his Guests aboard, and shov'd from Shoar.

Now, as the Goddess and her Charge prepare To breath the Sweets of soft Elysian Air, Upon the Left they spy a pensive Shade, Who on his bended Arm had rais'd his Head: Pale Grief sate heavy on his mournful Look: To whom, not unconcern'd, thus Celsus spoke:

Tell me, thou much afflicted Shade why Sighs Burst from your Breast, and Torrents from your Eyes: And