Page:The Splendid Shilling by John Philips (1719).pdf/9

Me lonely sitting, nor the glimmering Light
Of Make-weight Candle, nor the joyous Talk
Of loving Friend delights; distress'd, forlorn,
Amidst the horrors of the tedious Night,
Darkling I sigh, and feed with dismal Thoughts
My anxious Mind; or sometimes mournful Verse
Indite, and sing of Groves and Myrtle Shades,
Or desperate Lady near a purling Stream,
Or Lover pendant on a Willow-Tree.
Mean while, I Labour with eternal Drought,
And restless Wish, and Rave; my parched Throat
Finds no Relief, nor heavy Eyes Repose:
But if a Slumber haply does invade
My weary Limbs, my Fancy's still awake,
Thoughtful of Drink, and eager, in a Dream,
Tipples imaginary Pots of Ale,
In Vain; awake, I find the settled Thirst
Still gnawing, and the pleasant Phantom curse.

Thus do I Live from Pleasure quite debarr'd,
Nor taste the Fruits that the Sun's genial Rays
Mature, John-Apple, nor the downy Peach,
Nor Walnut in rough-furrow'd Coat secure,
Nor Medlar-Fruit, delicious in decay:
Afflictions Great! yet Greater still remain:
My Galligaskins that have long withstood
The Winter's Fury, and incroaching Frosts,
By Time subdu'd, (what will not Time subdue!)
An horrid Chasm disclose, with Orifice
Wide, discontinuous; at which the Winds