Proudly they march'd beneath her thick Disguise,
Safe in their Strength, secure from Human Eyes:
While Discord's fiery Brands their Souls inflame,
Who threatens here to Aggrandize her Name.
Lo! with to Morrow's Light a Desk appears,
The Joy of Factious, restive Mutineers.
A Thousand Dangers on the Tumult wait!
A Thousand Feuds foment the curst Debate!
So Heav'n has written in the Book of Fate.
She spoke; Sloth, rising from his silky Bed,
And leaning on one Arm his lumpy Head;
While from his languid Eyes a Deluge ran,
This broken Speech with feeble Voice began.
O Night, thou stab'st me with this killing News?
What new-born Plagues does active Hell produce?
Still do the Furies throw their Fiery Darts?
Still breathe Fatigue and War in Human Hearts?
Ah!