The Works of John Hall-Stevenson ... Corrected and Enlarged. With Several Original Poems, Now First Printed, and Explanatory Notes. In Three Volumes |
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EPITAPH UPON A LIVING SUBJECT. |
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 | The Works of John Hall-Stevenson |  |
197
EPITAPH UPON A LIVING SUBJECT.
Here lies the body of John H---,
Entomb'd within this castle-wall;
Impaired by time not overthrown,
Fairly subdued by Sloth alone.
Like one of Virgil's lazy cattle,
Unfit alike for peace or battle.
As snug and totally at rest
As dormice in their dormant nest.
Like souls unborn and unequipp'd,
A blank, of many a passion stripp'd.
That minds as much as these same weak ones
The threats of bishops, priests, and deacons.
And who the promises believes
Of priests and deacons and lawn sleeves,
As much as they themselves believe
All that they teach from morn to eve.
Which they are not to blame for teaching,
But those that pay them for their preaching.
When young, by his parish priest's assistance,
He saw great marvels at a distance;
He saw both heaven and hell below,
And also saw in heaven or hell,
But so far off they made no show,
All people that on earth do dwell,
As children lifted by the chin
See London town and all within.
Entomb'd within this castle-wall;
Impaired by time not overthrown,
Fairly subdued by Sloth alone.
Like one of Virgil's lazy cattle,
Unfit alike for peace or battle.
As snug and totally at rest
As dormice in their dormant nest.
Like souls unborn and unequipp'd,
A blank, of many a passion stripp'd.
That minds as much as these same weak ones
The threats of bishops, priests, and deacons.
And who the promises believes
Of priests and deacons and lawn sleeves,
As much as they themselves believe
All that they teach from morn to eve.
Which they are not to blame for teaching,
But those that pay them for their preaching.
199
He saw great marvels at a distance;
He saw both heaven and hell below,
And also saw in heaven or hell,
But so far off they made no show,
All people that on earth do dwell,
As children lifted by the chin
See London town and all within.
But now shut up and left alone,
Like a poor toad under a stone,
Entrenched up to the teeth and nose,
He sees no more of these fine shows.
Flattering hope and soft belief,
And fear a trembling midnight thief,
From hence, long since are fled and gone,
And love no longer dwells with John.
Like tempests on a desart shore
Unheard the senates thunders roar;
Nor the king's speech, nor king together,
Delight him, he's in such bad luck,
More than the bell of a bell-wether,
Or a young calf that wants to suck.
Nor all his peeresses and peers,
And Lady Marys fresh or stale,
No more than wanton mares or steers,
And heifers prurient for a male.
Not even the queen, whom all admire,
Can strike one spark of genial fire.
Like a poor toad under a stone,
Entrenched up to the teeth and nose,
He sees no more of these fine shows.
Flattering hope and soft belief,
And fear a trembling midnight thief,
From hence, long since are fled and gone,
And love no longer dwells with John.
Like tempests on a desart shore
Unheard the senates thunders roar;
Nor the king's speech, nor king together,
Delight him, he's in such bad luck,
201
Or a young calf that wants to suck.
Nor all his peeresses and peers,
And Lady Marys fresh or stale,
No more than wanton mares or steers,
And heifers prurient for a male.
Not even the queen, whom all admire,
Can strike one spark of genial fire.
Something from nothing cannot flow,
As every smatterer must know:
Where there's no subject, there's no story;
No care into his breast can steal,
Neither the love of fame and glory,
Nor such as gentle shepherds feel.
Like Daphne, slumbering in some bower,
Seized and kept under as she lies,
Weighed down by a resistless power,
That will not suffer her to rise;
The helpless and abandon'd virgin
Feels all hopes over of emerging.
In such a hopeless forlorn plight
Passive he lies, depress'd at length,
With all the dead incumbent weight,
And energy of inert strength.
Dead to the world, himself, and friend,
And dead in fact world without end,
Unless at last the god of gold,
Storming his castle and strong hold,
Where he in torpid peace within is,
Rouse him with showers and peals of guineas.
As every smatterer must know:
Where there's no subject, there's no story;
No care into his breast can steal,
Neither the love of fame and glory,
Nor such as gentle shepherds feel.
Like Daphne, slumbering in some bower,
Seized and kept under as she lies,
Weighed down by a resistless power,
That will not suffer her to rise;
The helpless and abandon'd virgin
Feels all hopes over of emerging.
203
Passive he lies, depress'd at length,
With all the dead incumbent weight,
And energy of inert strength.
Dead to the world, himself, and friend,
And dead in fact world without end,
Unless at last the god of gold,
Storming his castle and strong hold,
Where he in torpid peace within is,
Rouse him with showers and peals of guineas.
| The Works of John Hall-Stevenson | |