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The Complaint.
Night 5.
He took in Change, and underneath the Pride
Of costly Linen, tuck'd his filthy Shroud.
His crooked Bow he straiden'd to a Cane;
And hid his deadly Shafts in Myra's Eye.
The dreadful Masquerader, thus equipt,
Out-sallies on Adventures. Ask you where?
Where is he not? For his peculiar Haunts,
Let this suffice; sure as Night follows Day,
Death treads in Pleasure's Footsteps round the World,
When Pleasure treads the Paths, which Reason hans.
When, against Reason, Riot shuts the Door,
And Gaiety supplies the Place of Sense,
Then, foremost at the Banquet, and the Ball,
Death leads the Dance, or stamps the deadly Die;
Nor ever fails the midnight Bowl to crown.
Gaily carousing to his gay Compeers, or read
Inly he laughs, to see them laugh at him,
As absent far: And when the Revel burns,
When Fear is banisht, and triumphant Thought,
Calling for all the Joys beneath the Moon,
Against him turns the Key; and bids him sup
With their Progenitors-He drops his Mask;
Frowns out at full; they start, despair, expire,
Scarce with more sudden Terror and Surprize,
From his black Masque of Nitre, touch'd by Fire,
He barsts, expands, roars, blazes, and devours.
And is not this triumphant Treachery,
And more than simple Conquest, in the Fiend?
And now, Lorenzo, doit thou wrap thy Soul
In soft Security, because unknown
Which Moment is commillion'd to destroy
In Death's Uncertainty thy Danger lies.
Is Death uncertain? Therefore Thou be fixt;
Fixt as a Centinel, all Eye, all Ear,
Of costly Linen, tuck'd his filthy Shroud.
His crooked Bow he straiden'd to a Cane;
And hid his deadly Shafts in Myra's Eye.
The dreadful Masquerader, thus equipt,
Out-sallies on Adventures. Ask you where?
Where is he not? For his peculiar Haunts,
Let this suffice; sure as Night follows Day,
Death treads in Pleasure's Footsteps round the World,
When Pleasure treads the Paths, which Reason hans.
When, against Reason, Riot shuts the Door,
And Gaiety supplies the Place of Sense,
Then, foremost at the Banquet, and the Ball,
Death leads the Dance, or stamps the deadly Die;
Nor ever fails the midnight Bowl to crown.
Gaily carousing to his gay Compeers, or read
Inly he laughs, to see them laugh at him,
As absent far: And when the Revel burns,
When Fear is banisht, and triumphant Thought,
Calling for all the Joys beneath the Moon,
Against him turns the Key; and bids him sup
With their Progenitors-He drops his Mask;
Frowns out at full; they start, despair, expire,
Scarce with more sudden Terror and Surprize,
From his black Masque of Nitre, touch'd by Fire,
He barsts, expands, roars, blazes, and devours.
And is not this triumphant Treachery,
And more than simple Conquest, in the Fiend?
And now, Lorenzo, doit thou wrap thy Soul
In soft Security, because unknown
Which Moment is commillion'd to destroy
In Death's Uncertainty thy Danger lies.
Is Death uncertain? Therefore Thou be fixt;
Fixt as a Centinel, all Eye, all Ear,
All
