Page:The complete poetical works of Percy Bysshe Shelley, including materials never before printed in any edition of the poems.djvu/386

iii
Stupid brains, while one might count
 As many beads as he had boroughs,—
At length replies; from his mean front. 665
Like one who rubs out an account,
 Smoothing away the unmeaning furrows:

iv
'It happens fortunately, dear Sir,
 I can. I hope I need require
No pledge from you, that he will stir 670
In our affairs;—like Oliver,
 That he'll be worthy of his hire.'

v
These words exchanged, the news sent off
 To Peter, home the Devil hied,—
Took to his bed; he had no cough,
No doctor,—meat and drink enough,— 676
 Yet that same night he died.

vi
The Devil's corpse was leaded down;
 His decent heirs enjoyed his pelf,
Mourning-coaches, many a one, 680
Followed his hearse along the town:—
 Where was the Devil himself?

vii
When Peter heard of his promotion,
 His eyes grew like two stars for bliss:
There was a bow of sleek devotion
Engendering in his back; each motion 686
 Seemed a Lord's shoe to kiss.

viii
He hired a house, bought plate, and made
 A genteel drive up to his door,
With sifted gravel neatly laid,— 690
As if defying all who said,
 Peter was ever poor.

ix
But a disease soon struck into
 The very life and soul of Peter—
He walked about—slept—had the hue 695
Of health upon his cheeks—and few
 Dug better—none a heartier eater.

x
And yet a strange and horrid curse
Clung upon Peter, night and day;
Month after month the thing grew worse, 700
And deadlier than in this my verse
 I can find strength to say.

xi
Peter was dull—he was at first
 Dull—oh, so dull—so very dull!
Whether he talked, wrote, or rehearsed— 705
Still with this dulness was he cursed—
 Dull—beyond all conception—dull.

xii
No one could read his books—no mortal,
 But a few natural friends, would hear him;
The parson came not near his portal;
His state was like that of the immortal 711
 Described by Swift—no man could bear him.

xiii
His sister, wife, and children yawned,
 With a long, slow, and drear ennui,
All human patience far beyond; 715
Their hopes of Heaven each would have pawned,
 Anywhere else to be.

xiv
But in his verse, and in his prose,
 The essence of his dulness was
Concentred and compressed so close,
'Twould have made Guatimozin doze
 On his red gridiron of brass. 722