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And Los the terrible thus hath sworn,

Because thou backward dost return,

Poverty, Envy, old age, and fear,

Shall bring thy Wife upon a bier;

And Butts shall give what Fuseli gave,

A dark black Rock, and a gloomy Cave."

I struck the Thistle with my foot,

And broke him up from his delving root.

"Must the duties of life each other cross?

Must every joy be dung and dross?

Must my dear Butts feel cold neglect

Because I give Hayley his due respect?

Must Flaxman look upon me as wild.

And all my friends be with doubts beguil'd?

Must my Wife live in my Sister's bane,

Or my Sister survive on my Love's pain?

The curses of Los, the terrible shade.

And his dismal terrors make me afraid."