20
LE LUTRIN
Canto 2.
Luxury to her State devoutly bows,
And Sleep drop't Poppy-water on her Brows.
This Even the sleepy Dose they had redoubled,
In vain! for Discord's cries her sleep had troubled!
And envious Night conspiring with that Devil,
Buzz'd in her Drowsy Ears the Tragick Evil;
Night tells her how the Prelate did design
To make Disturbance in the Sacred Shrine;
How she had seen three Mortal Foes to Quiet,
March in Battalia; and Three will make a Ryot:
How Discord threatned, to augment the fray,
A Pulpit to erect by Break of Day;
Which would the people raise in Mutinies,
Thus, thus the Fates had written in the Skies!
At this Report, portending deadly Harm,
Idleness rais'd her self up on one Arm,
One Languid Eye she opes, and with weak Voice
Drop't these soft whispers; fearing her own Noise.
Ah Night! sad tale thou tell'st! what envious Fiend,
With new Combustions doth my Quiet rend?
Ah! what's become of those thrice blessed Dayes,
When Idle Princes crown'd with wither'd Bayes
Slept on their Thrones, and tamely worshipt me,
Leaving their Scepters to a Deputy?
All Night the Court did Feast, and slept all Day,
Creeping abroad perhaps when verdant May
With Gentle breathing Zephyrs sweet approaches
Call'd them to th' Park, drawn in six Horse-and-Coaches.
That happy Age is fled; for now a Prince
Has got the Throne, and banisht me long since;
Scorning my Pleasures: to my melting Charms
He stops his Ears with Thundring Drums Alarms:
And breaks my pleasing Dreams with Trumpets Sound,
Nor Summers Heat, nor Winters Frost confound
And Sleep drop't Poppy-water on her Brows.
This Even the sleepy Dose they had redoubled,
In vain! for Discord's cries her sleep had troubled!
And envious Night conspiring with that Devil,
Buzz'd in her Drowsy Ears the Tragick Evil;
Night tells her how the Prelate did design
To make Disturbance in the Sacred Shrine;
How she had seen three Mortal Foes to Quiet,
March in Battalia; and Three will make a Ryot:
How Discord threatned, to augment the fray,
A Pulpit to erect by Break of Day;
Which would the people raise in Mutinies,
Thus, thus the Fates had written in the Skies!
At this Report, portending deadly Harm,
Idleness rais'd her self up on one Arm,
One Languid Eye she opes, and with weak Voice
Drop't these soft whispers; fearing her own Noise.
Ah Night! sad tale thou tell'st! what envious Fiend,
With new Combustions doth my Quiet rend?
Ah! what's become of those thrice blessed Dayes,
When Idle Princes crown'd with wither'd Bayes
Slept on their Thrones, and tamely worshipt me,
Leaving their Scepters to a Deputy?
All Night the Court did Feast, and slept all Day,
Creeping abroad perhaps when verdant May
With Gentle breathing Zephyrs sweet approaches
Call'd them to th' Park, drawn in six Horse-and-Coaches.
That happy Age is fled; for now a Prince
Has got the Throne, and banisht me long since;
Scorning my Pleasures: to my melting Charms
He stops his Ears with Thundring Drums Alarms:
And breaks my pleasing Dreams with Trumpets Sound,
Nor Summers Heat, nor Winters Frost confound
His
