Page:The castle of Indolence - an allegorical poem - Written in imitation of Spenser (IA castleofindolenc00thomiala).pdf/45

LXXII.

Their only Labour was to kill the Time;

And Labour dire it is, and weary Woe.
They sit, they loll, turn o'er some idle Rhyme;
Then, rising sudden, to the Glass they go,
Or saunter forth, with tottering Step and slow:
This soon too rude an Exercise they find;
Strait on the Couch their Limbs again they throw,
Where Hours on Hours they sighing lie reclin'd,
And court the vapoury God soft-breathing in the Wind.

LXXIII.

Now must I mark the Villainy we found,

But ah! too late, as shall eftsoons be shewn.
A Place here was, deep, dreary, under Ground;
Where still our Inmates, when unpleasing grown,
Diseas'd, and loathsome, privily were thrown.
Far from the Light of Heaven, they languish'd there,
Unpity'd uttering many a bitter Groan;
For of these Wretches taken was no Care:
Fierce Fiends, and Hags of Hell, their only Nurses were.

LXXIV.