quality much above his own; not daring therefore to court her openly, he found this device to obtain her: he writes, upon the fairest apple that could be procured, a couple of verses to this effect:
"I swear, by chaste Diana, I will be In sacred wedlock ever join'd to thee:" and throws it at the feet of the young lady; she, suspecting not the deceit, takes it up and reads it, and therein promises herself in marriage to Acontius; there being a law there in force, that whatever any person should swear in the temple of Diana of Delos, should stand good, and be inviolably observed: but her father, not knowing what had past, and having not long after promised her to another, just as the solemnities of marriage were to be performed, she was taken with a sudden and violent fever, which Acontius endeavours to persuade her was sent from Diana, as a punish
ment of the breach of the vow made in her
presence. And this, with the rest of the argu
ments which on such occasion would occur to a lover, is the subject of the following epistle.
READ boldly this; here you shall swear no more,
For that's enough which you have sworn before.
Read it; so may that violent disease,
Which thy dear body, but my soul doth seize,
Foget its too-long practis'd cruelty,
And health to you restore, and you to me.
Why do you blush? for blush you do, I fear,
As when you first did in the temple swear:
Truth to your plighted faith is all I claim,
And truth can never be the cause of shame:
Shame lives with Guilt; but you your virtue prove
In favouring mine, for mine's a husband's love.
Ah! to yourself those binding words repeat
That once your wishing eyes ev'n long'd to meet,
When th' apple brought them dancing to your feet.
There you will find the solemn vow you made,
Which if your health or mine can aught persuade,
You to perform should rather mindful be,
Than great Diana to revenge on thee.
My fears for you increase with my desire,
And Hope blows that already raging fire;
For hope you gave, nor can you this deny,
For the great goddess of the fane was by;
She was, and heard, and from her hallow'd shrine
A sudden kind auspicious light did shine:
Her statue seem'd to nod its awful head,
And give its glad consent to what you said:
Now, if you please, accuse my prosperous cheat,
Yet still confess 'twas Love that taught me it:
In that deceit what did I else design
But with your own consent to make you mine?
What you my crime, I call my innocence,
Since loving you has been my sole offence.
Nor Nature gave me, nor has practice taught,
The nets with which young virgins' hearts are
You, my accuser, taught me to deceive, [caught.
And Love, with you, did his assistance give;
For Love stood by, and smiling bad me write
The cunning words he did himself indite:
Again, you see, I write by his command,
He guides my pen, and rules my willing hand,
Again such kind, such loving words I send,
As makes me fear that I again offend:
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Yet, if my love's my crime, I must confess,
Great is my guilt, but never shall be less.
Oh that I thus might ever guilty prove,
In finding out new paths to reach thy love!
A thousand ways to that steep mountain lead,
Though hard to find, and difficult to tread.
All these will I find out, and break through all,
For which, my flames compar'd, the danger's small.
The gods alone know what the end will be,
Yet, if we mortals any thing foresee,
One way or other you must yield to me.
If all my arts should fail, to arms I'll fly,
And snatch by force what you my prayers deny:
I all those heroes mighty acts applaud,
Who first have led me this illustrious road,
too-but hold, death the reward will be;
Death be it then!.
For to lose you is more than death to me.
Were you less fair, I'd use the vulgar way
Of tedious courtship, and of dull delay.
But thy bright form kindles more eager fires,
And something wondrous as itself inspires;
Those eyes that all the heavenly lights out-shine,
(Which, oh! may'st thou behold and love in
mine!)
Those snowy arms, which on my neck should fall,
If you the vows you made regard at all,
That modest sweetness and becoming grace,
That paints with living red your blushing face,
Those feet, with which they only can compare,
That through the silver flood bright Thetis bear:
Do all conspire my madness to excite,
With all the rest that is deny'd to sight:
Which could I praise, alike I then were blest,
And all the storms of my vex'd soul at rest:
No wonder then, if, with such beauty fir'd,
I of your love the sacred pledge desir'd.
Rage now, and be as angry as you will,
Your very frowns all others' smiles excel;
But give me leave that anger to appease,
By my submission that my love did raise,
Your pardon prostrate at your feet I'll crave,
The humble posture of your guilty slave.
With falling tears your fiery rage I'll cool,
soul,
And lay the rising tempest of your
Why in my absence are you thus severe?
Summon'd at your tribunal to appear
For all my crimes, I'd gladly suffer there:
With pride whatever you inflict receive,
And love the wounds those hands vouchsafe to give.
Your fetters too-but they, alas! are vain,
For Love has bound me, and I hug my chain:
Your hardest laws with patience I'll obey,
Till you yourself at last relent, and say,
When all my sufferings you with pity see,
"He that can love so well, is worthy me!"
But, if all this should unsuccessful prove,
Diana claims for me your promis'd love.
O may my fears be false! yet she delights
In just revenge of her abused rites.
I dread to hide, what yet to speak I dread,
Lest you should think that for myself I plead.
Yet out it must:-'Tis this, 'tis surely this,
That is the fuel to your hot disease:
When waiting Hymen at your porch attends,
Her fatal messenger the goddess sends;
And when you would to his kiud call consent,
This fever does your perjury prevent.
Forbear, forbear, thus to provoke her rage,
Which you so easily may yet assuage:
Forbear to make that lovely charming face
The prey to every envious disease:
Preserve those looks to be enjoy'd by me,
Which none should ever but with wonder see:
Let that fresh colour to your cheeks return,
Whose glowing flame did all beholders burn:
But let on him, th' unhappy cause of all
The ills that from Diana's anger fall,
No greater torments light than those I feel,
When you, my dearest, tenderest part, are ill.
For, oh with what dire tortures am I rack'd,
Whom different griefs successively distract!
Sometimes my grief from this does higher grow,
To think that I have caus'd so much to you.
Then, great Diana's witness, how I pray
That all our crimes on me alone she'd lay!
Sometimes to your lov'd doors disguis'd I come,
And all around them up and down I roam;
Till I your woman coming from you spy,
With looks dejected, and a weeping eye.
With silent steps, like some sad ghost, I steal
Close up to her, and urge her to reveal
More than new questions suffer her to tell:
How you had slept, what diet you had us'd?
And oft the vain physician's art accus'd.
He every hour (oh, were I blest as he!)
Does all the turns of your distemper see.
Why sit not I by your bed-side all day,
My mournful head in your warm bosom lay,
Till with my tears the inward fires decay?
Why press not I your melting hand in mine,
And from your pulse of my own health divine?
But, oh! these wishes all are vain; and he
Whom most I fear, may now sit close by thee,
Forgetful as thou art of Heaven and me.
He that lov'd hand doth press, and oft doth feign
Some new excuse to feel thy beating vein.
Then his bold hand up to your arm doth slide,
And in your panting breast itself does hide;
Kisses sometimes he snatches too from thee,
For his officious care too great a fee.
Robber, who gave thee leave, to taste that lip,
And the ripe harvest of my kisses reap?
For they are mine, so is that bosom too,
Which, false as 'tis, shall never harbour you:
Take, take away those thy adulterous hands,
For know, another lord that breast commands.
'Tis true, her father promis'd her to thee,
But Heaven and she first gave herself to me:
And you in justice therefore should decline
Your claim to that which is already mine.
This is the man, Cydippe, that excites
Diana's rage, to vindicate her rites.
Command him then not to approach thy door;
This done, the danger of your death is o'er.
For fear not, beauteous maid, but keep thy vow,
Which great Diana heard, and did allow.
And she who took it, will thy health restore,
And be propitious as she was before.
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'Tis not the steam of a slain heifer's blood That can allay the anger of a god: "Tis-truth, and justice to your vows, appease Their angry deities; and without these No slaughter'd beast their fury can divert, For that's a sacrifice without a heart.
Some, bitter potions patiently endure,
And kiss the wounding lance that works their
You have no need these cruel cures to feel, Shun being perjur'd only, and be well.
Why let you still your pious parents weep,
Whom you in ignorance of your promise keep?
Oh! to your mother all our story tell,
And the whole progress of our love reveal:
Tell her how first, at great Diana's shrine,
I fix'd my eyes, my wondering eyes, on thine:
How like the statues there I stood amaz'd,
Whilst on thy face intemperately I gaz'd.
She will herself, when you my tale repeat,
Smile, and approve the amorous deceit.
"Marry," she'll say, "whom Heaven commends to
He, who has pleas'd Diana, pleases me." [thee,
But should she ask from what descent I came,
My country, and my parents, and my name;
Tell her, that none of these deserve my shame.
Had you not sworn, you such a one might choose;
But, were he worse, now sworn, you can't refuse.
This in my dreams Diana bade me write,
And when I wak'd, sent Cupid to indite.
Obey them both, for one has wounded me,
Which wound if you with eyes of pity see,
She too will soon relent that wounded thee.
Then to our joys with eager haste we'll move,
As full of beauty you, as 1 of love:
To the great temple we 'll in triumph go,
And with our offerings at the altar bow.
A golden image there I'll consecrate,
Of the false apple's innocent deceit;
And write below the happy verse that came
The messenger of my successful flame :
"Let all the world this from Acontius know,
Cydippe has been faithful to her vow."
More I could write! but, since thy illness reigns, And racks thy tender limbs with sharpest pains, My pen falls down for fear, lest this might be, Although for me too little, yet too much for thee.
THE ARGUMENT. The poet in this satire first brings in Crispinus, whom he had a lash at in his first satire, and whom he promises here not to be forgetful of for the future. He exposes his monstrous prodigality and luxury, in giving the price of an estate for a barbel: and from thence takes occasion to introduce the principal subject and true design of this satire, which is grounded upon a ridiculous story of a turbot presented to Domitian, of so vast a bigness, that all the emperor's scullery had not a dish large enough to hold it: upon which the senate in all haste is summoned, to consult, in this exigency, what is fittest to be done. The poet gives us a particular of the senators' names, their distinct characters, and speeches, and advice; and, after much and wise consultation, an expedient being found out and agreed upon, he dismisses the senate, and concludes the satire.
ONCE more Crispinus call'd upon the stage
(Nor shall once more suffice) provokes my rage:
A monster, to whom every vice lays claim,
Without one virtue to redeem his fame.
Feeble and sick, yet strong in lust alone,
The rank adulterer preys on all the town,
All but the widows' nauseous charms go down.
What matter then how stately is the arch [march? | Where Venus' shrine does fair Ancona grace,
Where his tir'd mules slow with their burthen
What matter then how thick and long the shade
Through which he is by sweating slaves convey'd?
How many acres near the city walls
Or new-built palaces, his own he calls?
No ill man's happy; least of all is he
Whose study 'tis to corrupt chastity;
Th' incestuous brute, who the veil'd vestal maid But lately to his impious bed betray'd,
A turbot taken, of prodigious space,
Fill'd the extended net, not less than those
That dull Mæotis does with ice enclose;
Till, conquer'd by the Sun's prevailing ray,
It opens to the Pontic sea their way;
And throws them out unwieldy with their growth,
Fat with long ease, and a whole winter's sloth:
The wise commander of the boat and lines,
For our high priest 8 the stately prey designs;
Who for his crime, if laws their course might have, For who that lordly fish durst sell or buy,
Ought to descend alive into the grave'.
But now of slighter faults; and yet the same
By others done, the censor's justice claim.
For what good men ignoble count and base,
Is virtue here, and does Crispinus grace:
In this he's safe, whate'er we write of him,
The person is more odious than the crime.
And so all satire's lost. The lavish slave
Six thousand pieces for a barbel gave:
A sesterce for each pound it weigh'd, as they
Gave out, that hear great things, but greater say.
If, by this bribe well plac'd, he would ensnare
Some sapless usurer that wants an heir,
Or if this present the sly courtier meant
Should to some punk of quality be sent,
That in her easy chair in state does ride,
The glasses all drawn up on every side,
I'd praise his cunning; but expect not this,
For his own gut he bought the stately fish.
Now even Apicius3 frugal seems, and poor,
Outvy'd in luxury unknown before.
Gave you, Crispinus, you this mighty sum;
You that, for want of other rags, did come
In your own country paper wrapp'd to Rome?
Do scales and fins bear price to this excess?
You might have bought the fishermen for less.
For less some provinces whole acres sell!
Nay, in Apulia, if you bargain well,
A manor would cost less than such a meal.
What think we then of this luxurious lord 5?
What banquets loaded that imperial board?
When, in one dish, that, taken from the rest,
His constant table would have hardly miss'd,
So many sesterces were swallow'd down,
To stuff one scarlet-coated court buffoon,
Whom Rome of all her knights now chiefest greets,
From crying stinking fish about her streets.
Begin, Calliope, but not to sing:
Plain, honest truth we for our subject bring.
Help then, ye young Pierian maids, to tell
A downright narrative of what befell,
Afford me willingly your sacred aids,
Me that have call'd you young, me that have styl'd you maids.
When he, with whom the Flavian race decay'd, The groaning world with iron sceptre sway'd, When a bald Nero reign'd, and servile Rome obey'd,
1 Crispinus had seduced a vestal virgin; and, by the law of Numa, should have been buried alive. 2 Roman sestertii,
3 Famous for gluttony, even to a proverb. See Dr. King's Art of Cookery.
4 Where land was remarkably cheap.
6 Domitian was the last and worst of that family. Domitian, from his cruelty, was called a second Nero; and, from his baldness, Calvus.
So many spies and court-informers nigh?
No shore but of this vermin swarms does bear,
Searchers of mud and sea-weed! that would swear
The fish had long in Cæsar's ponds been fed,
And from its lord undutifully fled,
So, justly ought to be again restor❜d:
Nay, if you credit sage Palphurius'9 word,
Or dare rely on Armillatus'9 skill,
Whatever fish the vulgar fry excel
Belong to Cæsar, wheresoe'er they swim,
By their own worth confiscated to him.
The boatman then shail a wise present make, And give the fish before the seizers take.
Now sickly Autumn to dry frosts gave way, Cold Winter rag'd, and fresh preserv'd the prey; Yet with such haste the busy fishes flew, As if with a hot south-wind corruption blew: And now he reach'd the lake, where what remains Of Alba still her ancient rites retains, Still worships Vesta, though an humbler way, Nor lets the hallow'd Trojan fire decay.
The wondering crowd, that to strange sights reAnd choak'd a while his passage to the court, At length gives way; ope flies the palace-gate, The turbot enters in, without the fathers' wait; The boatmen straight does to Atrides press, And thus presents his fish, and his address: "Accept, dread sir, this tribute from the main, Too great for private kitchens to contain To your glad genius sacrifice this day, Let common meats respectfully give way. Haste to unload your stomachs, to receive This turbot, that for you did only live. So long preserv'd to be imperial food, Glad of the net, and to be taken proud."
How fulsome this! how gross! yet this takes well,
And the vain prince with empty pride does swell.
Nothing so monstrous can be said or feign'd,
But with belief and joy is entertain'd,
When to his face the worthless wretch is prais'd,
Whom vile court-flattery to a god has rais'd.
But oh, hard fate! the palace stores no dish
Afford, capacious of the mighty fish.
To sage debate are summon'd all the peers,
His trusty and much-hated counsellors,
In whose pale looks that ghastly terrour sat,
That haunts the dangerous friendships of the great.
The loud Liburnian", that the senate call'd, "Run, run; he 's set, he's set!" no sooner bawld, But, with his robe snatcht up in haste, does come Pegasus 2, bailiff of affrighted Rome,
8 A title often assumed by the emperors. 9 Both of consular degree, yet spies and informers.
10 The senate, or patres conscripti. "The Roman criers were usually of this country. 12 A learned lawyer, and prefect of Rome.
What more were prefects then? The best he was,
And faithfullest expounder of the laws.
Ye in ill times thought all things manag'd best,
When Justice exercis'd her sword the least.
Cld Crispus13 next, pleasant though old, appears,
His wit nor humour yielding to his years.
His temper mild, good-nature join'd with sense,
And manners charming as his eloquence.
Who fitter for a useful friend than he,
To the great ruler of the earth and sea,
If, as his thoughts were just, his tongue were free?
If it were safe to vent his generous mind
To Rome's dire plague, and terrour of mankind;
If cruel Power could softening counsel bear,
But what's so tender as a tyrant's ear;
With whom whoever, though a favourite, spake,
At every sentence set his life at stake,
Though the discourse were of no weightier things,
Than sultry summers, or unhealthful springs?
This well he knew, and therefore never try'd,
With his weak arms, to stem the stronger tide.
Nor did all Rome, grown spiritless, supply
A man that for bold truth durst bravely die.
So, safe by wise complying silence, he
Ev'n in that court did fourscore summers see.
Next him Acilius, though his age the same,
With eager haste to the grand council came:
With him a youth, unworthy of the fate
That did too near his growing virtues wait,
Urg'd by the tyrant's envy, fear, or hate.
(But 'tis long since old age began to be
In noble blood no less than prodigy,
Whence 'tis I'd rather be of giants' birth 14,
A pigmy brother to those sons of Earth.)
Unhappy youth! whom from his destin'd end,
No well-dissembled madness could defend,
When naked in the Alban theatre,
In Libyan bears he fixt his hunting spear.
Who sees not now through the lord's thin dis-
guise,
That long seem'd fool, to prove at last more wise?
That stale court trick is now too open laid:
Who now admires the part old Brutus play'd's?
Those honest times might swallow this pretence,
When the king's beard was deeper than his sense.
Next Rubrius came, though not of noble race,
With equal marks of terrour in his face.
Pale with the gnawing guilt and inward shame
Of an old crime, that is not fit to name.
Worse, yet in scandal taking more delight,
Than the vile pathic 16 that durst satire write.
Montanus' belly next, advancing slow
Before the sweating senator, did go.
Crispinus after, but much sweeter comes,
Scented with costly oils and eastern gums,
More than would serve two funerals for perfumes.
Then Pompey, none more skill'd in the court-
Of cutting throats with a soft whisper, came.
Next Fuscus 17, he who many a peaceful day
For Dacian vultures was reserv'd a prey,
Till, having study'd war enough at home,
He led abroad th' unhappy arms of Rome.
13 Who made the jest on Domitian's killing flies.
14 Of an obscure and unknown family.
15 In counterfeiting madness.
16 Nero, who charged his own crimes on 2uintianus.
Conelius Fuscus, who was slain in Dacia.
Cunning Vejento next, and by his side
Bloody Catullus leaning on his guide.
Decrepit, yet a furious lover he,
And deeply smit with charms he could not see.
A monster, that ev'n this worst age outvies,
Conspicuous, and above the common size.
A blind base flatterer, from some bridge or gate 18,
Rais'd to a murdering minister of state;
Deserving still to beg upon the road,
And bless each passing waggon and its load.
None more admir'd the fish; he in its praise
With zeal his voice, with zeal his hands did raise;
But to the left all his fine things did say,
Whilst on his right the unseen turbot lay.
So he the fam'd Cilician fencer prais'd,
And at each hit with wonder seem'd amaz'd:
So did the scenes and stage machines admire,
And boys that flew through canvass clouds in wire.
Nor came Vejento short; but, as inspir'd
By thee, Bellona, by thy fury fir'd,
Turns prophet. "See the mighty omen, see,"
He cries, "of some illustrious victory!
Some captive king thee his new lord shall own;
Or from his British chariot headlong thrown
The proud Arviragus come tumbling down!
The monster's foreign. Mark the pointed spears
That from thy hand on his pierc'd back he wears!"
Who nobler could, or plainer things presage?
Yet one thing 'scap'd him, the prophetic rage
Show'd not the turbot's country, nor its age.
At length by Cæsar the grand question's put:
"My lords, your judgement; shall the fish be cut?"
"Far be it, far from us," Montanus cries;
"Let's not dishonour thus the noble prize!
A pot of finest earth, thin, deep, and wide,
Some skilful quick Prometheus must provide.
Clay and the forming wheel prepare with speed.
But, Cæsar, be it from henceforth decreed,
That potters on the royal progress wait,
T'assist in these emergencies of state."
This counsel pleas'd; nor could it fail to take,
So fit, so worthy of the man that spake.
The old court riots he remember'd well;
Could tales of Nero's midnight suppers tell,
When Falern wines the labouring lungs did fire,
And to new dainties kindled false desire.
In arts of eating, none more early train'd,
Noue in my time had equal skill attain'd.
He, whether Circe's rock his oysters bore,
Or Lucrine lake, or the Rutupian shore,
Knew at first taste, nay at first sight could tell
A crab or lobster's country by its shell.
They rise; and straight all, with respectful awe,
At the word given, obsequiously withdraw,
Whom, full of eager haste, surprise, and fear,
Our mighty prince had summon'd to appear;
As if some news he 'd of the Catti tell,
Or that the fierce Sicambrians did rebel:
As if expresses from all parts had come
With fresh alarms threatening the fate of Rome.
What folly this! But, oh! that all the rest
Of his dire reign had thus been spent in jest;
And all that time such trifles had employ'd
In which so many nobles he destroy'd;
He safe, they unreveng'd, to the disgrace
Of the surviving, tame, patrician race!
But, when he dreadful to the rabble grew,
Him, whom so many lords had slain, they slew.
18 The common stands for beggars.
TELL me, Alexis, whence these sorrows grow?
From what hid spring do these salt torrents flow?
Why hangs the head of my afflicted swain;
Like bending lilies over-charg'd with rain?
Ah, Damon, if what you already see Can move thy gentle breast to pity me; How would thy sighs with mine in concert join, How would thy tears swell up the tide of mine, Couldst thou but see (but, oh, no light is there, But blackest clouds of darkness and despair!) Conld'st thou but see the torments that within Lie deeply lodg'd, and view the horrid scene! View all the wounds, and every fatal dart That sticks and rankles in my bleeding heart! No more, ye swains, Love's harmless anger fear, For he has empty'd all his quiver here. Nor thou, kind Damon, ask me why I grieve, But rather wonder, wonder that I live.
Unhappy youth! too well, alas! I know The pangs despairing lovers undergo! [Imperfect.]
CELIA AND DORINDA.
WHEN first the young Alexis saw
Calia to all the plain give law,
The haughty Cælia, in whose face
Love dwelt with fear, and pride with grace;
When every swain he saw submit
To her commanding eyes and wit,
How could th' ambitious youth aspire
To perish by a nobler fire?
With all the power of verse he strove
The lovely shepherdess to move:
Verse, in which the gods delight,
That makes nymphs love, and heroes fight;
Verse, that once rul'd all the plain,
Verse, the wishes of a swain.
How oft has Thyrsis' pipe prevail'd,
Where Egon's flocks and herds have fail'd?
Fair Amaryllis, was thy mind
Ever to Damon's wealth inclin'd;
Whilst Lycidas's gentle breast,
With love, and with a Muse possest,
Breath'd forth in verse his soft desire,
Kindling in thee his gentle fire?
[Imperfect.]
No: thanks, kind Heaven, that hast my soul employ'd,
With my great sex's useful virtue, pride:
That generous pride, that noble just disdain,
That scorns the slave that would presume to reign.
Let the raw amorous scribbler of the times
Call me his Cælia in insipid rhymes;
I hate and scorn you all, proud that I am
T' revenge my sex's injuries on man.
Compar'd to all the plagues in marriage dwell,
It were preferment to lead apes in Hell.
VOTE OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. HAVE we for this serv'd full nine hard campaigns? Is this the recompense for all our pains? Have we to the remotest parts been sent, Bravely expos'd our lives, and fortunes spent, To be undone at last by parliament?
Must colonels and corporals now be equal made, And flaming sword turn'd pruning knife and
T-b, S- F-, and thousands more,
Must now return to what they were before.
No more in glittering coaches shall they ride,
No more the feathers show the coxcombs' pride.
For thee, poor · ! my Muse does kindly weep,
To see disbanded colonels grown so cheap.
So younger brothers, with fat jointures fed,
Go despicable, once their widows dead.
No ship, by tempest from her anchor torn,
Is half so lost a thing, and so forlorn.
On every stall, in every broker's shop,
Hang up the plumes of the dismantled fop;
Trophies like these we read not of in story,
By other ways the Romans got their glory.
But in this, as in all things, there's a doom,
Some die i' th' field, and others starve at home.
ROMAN CATHOLIC UPON MARRIAGE. CENSURE and penances, excommunication, Are bug-bear words to fright a bigot nation; But 'tis the Church's more substantial curse, To damn us all for better and for worse. Falsely your church seven sacraments does frame, Penance and matrimony are the same.
CELIA'S SOLILOQUY.
MISTRESS of all my senses can invite,
Free as the air, and unconfin'd as light;
Queen of a thousand slaves, that fawn and bow,
And, with submissive fear, my power allow,
Should I exchange this noble state of life
To gain the vile detested name of Wife;
Should 1 my native liberty betray,
Call him my lord, who at my footstool lay?
-AND yet he fears to use them, and be free; Yet some have ventur'd, and why should not all? Let villains, perjur'd, envious, and malicious, The wretched miser and the midnight murderer; Betrayers of their country, or their friend, (And every guilty breast) fear endless torment, Blue lakes of brimstone, unextinguish'd fires, Scorpions and whips, and all that guilt deserves;
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