Doubt, mutual jealousy, and dumb disgust,
Dark-hinted mutterings, and avow'd distrust;
To fecret ferment is each heart refign'd;
Sufpicion hovers in each clouded mind;
They jar, accus'd accufe, revil'd revile,
And wrath to wrath oppose, and guile to guile;
Wrangling they part, themselves themselves betray;
Each dire device starts naked into day;
They feel confufion in the van with fear;
They feel the king of terrors in the rear.
Of these were three by different motives fired,
Ambition one, and one Revenge infpired.
The third, O Mammon, was thy meaner flave;
Thou idol feldom of the great and brave!
Florio, whofe life was one continued feaft, His wealth diminish'd, and his debts increas'd, Vain pomp, and equipage, his low defines, Who ne'er to intellectual bliss afpires; He, to repair by vice what vice has broke, Durft with bold treafons judgment's rod provoke. His ftrength of mind, by luxury half difiol'd, Ill brooks the woe, where deep he ftands involv'd. He weeps, ftamps wild, and to and fro now flies; Now wrings his hands, and fends unmanly cries, 430 Arraigns his judge, affirms unjust he bleeds, And now recants, and now for mercy pleads; Now blames associates, raves with inward ftrife, Upbraids himself; then thinks alone on life. He rolls red fwelling, tearful eyes around, Sore imites his breaft, and finks upon the ground.
He wails, he quite defponds, convulfive lies,
Shrinks from the fancied axe, and thinks he dies:
Revives, with hope enquires, ftops short with fear,
Entreats ev'n flattery, nor the worst will hear; · 440
The worst, alas, his doom!-What friend replies?
Each speaks with shaking head, and down cast eyes.
One filence breaks, then pauses, drops a tear;
Nor hope affords, nor quite confirms his fear;
But what kind friendship part referves unknown 445
Comes thundering in his keeper's furly tone.
Enough ftruck through and through, in ghastly stare,
He stands transfix'd, the ftatue of defpair;
Nor aught of life, nor aught of death he knows,
Till thought returns, and brings return of woes: 450
Now ftorm of grief in gushing ftreams:
That paft-collected in himself he feems,
And with forc'd fmile retires-His latent thought
Dark, horrid, as the prison's difmal vault.
If with himself at variance ever-wild,
With angry heaven how ftands he reconcil'd?
No penitential orifons arife;
Nay, he obtefts the justice of the skies.
Not for his guilt, for fentenc'd life he moans;
His chains rough-clanking to difcordant groans, 460
To bars harfh-grating, heavy-creaking doors,
Hoarse-echoing walls, and hollow-ringing floors,
To thoughts more dissonant, far, far less kind,
One anarchy, one chaos of the mind.
At length, fatigued with grief, on earth he lies: 465
But foon as fleep weighs down th' unwilling eyes,
Glad liberty appears, no damps annoy,
Treafon fucceeds, and all transforms to joy.
Proud palaces their glittering ftores display:
Gain he pursues, and rapine leads the way.
What gold! What gems !—he strains to feize the prize;
Quick from his touch diffolv'd, a cloud it flies.
Confcious he cries-and must I wake to weep?
Ah, yet return, return, delufive fleep!
Sleep comes; but liberty no more :-Unkind,
The dungeon-glooms hang heavy on his mind.
Shrill winds are heard, and howling dæmons call;
Wide-flying portals feem unhing'd to fall:
Then close with fudden claps; a dreadful din!
He starts, wakes, ftorms, and all is hell within.
His genius flies-reflects he now on prayer?
Alas! bad fpirits turn thofe thoughts to air.
What shall he next? What, ftraight relinquifh breath,
To bar a public, juft, though shameful death ?
Rash, horrid thought! yet now afraid to live,
Murderous he strikes-may heaven the deed forgive!
Why had he thus false spirit to rebel?
And why not fortitude to fuffer well?
Were his fuccefs, how terrible the blow!
And it recoils on him eternal woe.
Heaven this affliction then for mercy meant,
That a good end might close a life mifpent.
Where no kind lips the hallow'd dirge refound,
Far from the compafs of yon facred ground;
Full in the centre of three meeting ways,
Stak'd through he lies.-Warn'd let the wicked gaze.
Near yonder fane, where mifery fleeps in peace,
Whofe fpire faft-leifens, as thefe fhades increase,
Left to the north, whence oft brew'd tempefts roll,
Tempefts, dire emblems, Cofmo, of thy foul!
There maik that Cofmo, much for guile renown'd!
His grave by unbid plants of poison crown'd.
When out of power, through him the public good,
So ftrong his factious tribe, suspended stood.
In power,
vindictive actions were his aim,
And patriots perish'd by th' ungenerous flame.
If the beft caufe he in the fenate chofe,
Ev'n right in him from fome wrong motive rofe.
The bad he loath'd, and would the weak despife;
Yet courted for dark ends, and fhunn'd the wife. 510
When ill his purpose, eloquent his ftrain ;
His malice had a look, and voice humane.
His smile, the signal of some vile intent,
A private poniard, or empoison'd scent;
Proud, yet to popular applaufe a flave;
No friend he honour'd, and no foe forgave.
His boons unfrequent, or unjust to need;
The hire of guilt, of infamy the meed:
But, if they chanc'd on learned worth to fall,
Hounty in him was oftentation all.
No true benevolence his thought fublimes,
His nobleft actions are illuftrious crimes.
Fine parts, which virtue might have rank'd with fame, Enhance his guilt, and magnify his fhame.
When parts in probity in man combine,
In wifdom's eye, how charming must he shine!
Let him, lefs happy, truth at leaft impart,
And what he wants in genius bear in heart.
Cofmo, as death draws nigh, no more conceals
That ftorm of paffion, which his nature feels:
He feels much fear, more anger, and most pride;
But pride and anger make all fear fubfide.
Dauntless he meets at length untimely fate;
A desperate spirit! rather fierce, than great.
Darkling he glides along the dreary coaft,
A fullen, wandering, felf-tormenting ghoft.
Where veiny marble dignifies the ground,
With emblem fair in fculpture rifing round,
Juft where a croffing, lengthening aisle we find,
Full eaft; whence God returns to judge mankind, 540
Once-lov'd Horatio fleeps, a mind elate!
Lamented fhade, ambition was thy fate.
Ev'n angels, wondering, oft his worth survey'd;
Behold a man, like one of us! they faid.
Straight heard the Furies, and with envy glar'd, 545 And to precipitate his fall prepar'd
First Avarice came. In vain Self-love the prefs'd; he pity'd ftill, and ftill redrefs'd:
The poor
Learning was his, and knowledge to commend,
Of arts a patron, and of want a friend.
Next came Revenge: but her effay how vain!
Not hate, nor envy, in his heart remain.
No previous malice could his mind engage,
Malice the mother of vindictive rage.
No-from his life his foes might learn to live;
He held it ftill a triumph to forgive.
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