In vain the wall's broad base deep-rooted lies,
In vain an hundred turrets threat the skies!
Lo! while at ease the bands immur'd repose,
Nor careless dream of subterranean foes,
Like the Cadmæan host, embattled swarms
Start from the earth, and clash their sounding arms,
And, pouring war and slaughter from beneath,
Wrap towers, walls, men, in fire, in blood, in death.

So some fam'd torrent dives within the caves
Of opening earth, ingulph'd with all his waves;
High o'er the latent stream the shepherd feeds
His wandering flock, and tunes the sprightly reed:
Till from some rifted chasm the billows rise,
And, foaming, burst tumultuous to the skies;
Then, roaring dreadful o'er the delug'd plain,
Sweep herds and hinds in thunder to the main.
Bear me, ye friendly powers, to gentler scenes,
To shady bowers, and never-fading greens!
Where the shrill trumpet never sounds alarms,
Nor martial din is heard, nor clash of arms;
Hail, ye soft seats! ye limpid springs and floods !
Ye flowery meads, ye vales, and woods!
Ye limpid floods, that ever murmuring flow!
Ye verdant nieads, where flowers eternal blow!
Ye shady vales, where Zephyrs ever play!
Ye woods, where little warblers tune their lay!

Here grant me, Heaven, to end my peaceful days, And steal myself from life by slow decays; Draw health from food the temperate garden yields, From fruit or herb the bounty of the fields; Nor let the loaded table groan beneath Slain animals, the horrid feast of Death: With age unknown to pain or sorrow blest, To the dark grave retiring as to rest; While gently with one sigh this mortal frame Dissolving turus to ashes, whence it came; While my freed soul departs without a groan, And, joyful, wings her flight to worlds unknown.

Ye gloomy grots! ye awful solemn cells,
Where holy thoughtful Contemplation dwells,
Guard me from splendid cares, and tiresome state,
That pompous misery of being great!
Happy! if by the wise and learn❜d belov'd;
But happiest above all, if self-approv'd!
Content with ease; ambitious to despise
Illustrious Vanity, and glorious Vice!
Coine, thou chaste maid, here ever let me stray,
While the calm hours steal unperceived away;
Here court the Muses, while the Sun on high
Flames in the vault of Heaven, and fires the sky:
Or while the night's dark wings this globe sur-
round,

And the pale Moon begins her solemn round,
Bid my free soul to starry orbs repair,
Those radiant worlds that float in ambient air,
And with a regular confusion stray
Oblique, direct, along th' aërial way:
Or when Aurora, from her golden bowers,
Exhales the fragrance of the balmy flowers,
Reclin'd in silence on a mossy bed,
Consult the learned volumes of the dead;
Fall❜n realms and empires in description view,
Live o'er past times, and build whole worlds anew;
Or from the bursting tombs in fancy raise
The sons of Fame, who liv'd in ancient days:
And lo! with haughty stalk the warrior treads!
Stern legislators, frowning, lift their heads!.

I see proud victors in triumphal cars,
Chiefs, kings, and heroes, seam'd with glorious
scars!

Or listen till the raptur'd soul takes wings,
While Plato reasons, or while Homer sings.

Charm me, ye sacred leaves', with loftier themes,
With opening Heavens, and angels rob'd in flames:
Ye restless passions, while I read, be aw'd:
Hail, ye mysterious oracles of God!
Here I behold how infant Time began,
How the dust mov'd and quicken'd into man;
Here through the flowery walks of Eden rove,
Court the soft breeze, or range the spicy grove ;
There tred on hallow'd ground where angels trod,
And reverend patriarchs talk'd as friends with
God;

Or hear the voice to slumbering prophets given, Or gaze on visions from the throne of Heaven.

But nobler yet, far nobler scenes advance!
Why leap the mountains? why the forests dance?
Why flashes glory from the golden spheres?
Rejoice, O Earth, a God, a God appears!,

A God, a God, descending angels sing,
And mighty Seraphs shout, Behold your King!
Hail, virgin-born! Lift, lift, ye blind, your eyes!
Sing, oh! ye dumb! and on! ye dead, arise!
Tremble, ye gates of Hell! in noblest strains
Tell it aloud, ye Heavens! the Saviour reigns!

Of transient life, in no unuseful ease!
Thus lonely, thoughtful, may I run the racc
Enjoy each hour, nor as it fleets away,
Think life too short, and yet too long the day;
Of right observant, while the soul attends
Each duty, and makes Heaven and angels friends,
And thou, fair Peace, from the wild floods of war
Come dove-like, and thy blooming olive bear;
Tell me, ye victors, what strange charms ye find
In Conquest, that destruction of mankind!
Unenvy'd may your laurels ever grow,
That never flourish but in human woe,
If never Earth the wreath triumphal bears,
Till drench'd in heroes' blood, or orphans' tears.

Let Ganges from afar to slaughter train
His sable warriors on th' embattled plain;
Let Volga's sons in iron squadrons rise,
And pour in millions from her frozen skies:
Thou, gentle Thames, flow thou in peaceful streams,
Bid thy bold sons restrain their martial flames.
In thy own laurel's shade, great Marlborough,
There charm the thoughts of conquer'd worids
stay,
[away:
Guardian of England! born to scourge her focs,
Speak, and thy word gives half the world repose;
Sink down, ye hills; eternal rocks, subside;
Vanish, ye forts; thou, Ocean, drain thy tide:
We safety boast, defended by thy fame,
And armies in the terrour of thy name!
Now fix o'er Anna's throne thy victor blade.
War, be thou chain'd! ye streams of blood, be
stay'd!

Though wild Ambition her just vengeance feels, She wars to save, and where she strikes, she heals.

So Pallas with her javelin smote the ground, And peaceful olives flourish'd from the wound.

"The Holy Scriptures.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES LORD CORNWALLIS,

Against our reason fondly we believe,
Assist the fraud, and teach it to deceive:
As the faint traveller, when Night invades,
Sees a false light relieve the ambient shades,
Pleas'd he beholds the bright delusion play,
But the false guide shines only to betray:

O THOU, whose virtues sanctify thy state!
O great, without the vices of the great!
Form'd by a dignity of mind to please,
To think, to act with elegance and ease!
Say, wilt thou listen while I tune the string,
And sing to thee, who gav'st me ease to sing?
Unskill'd in verse, I haunt the silent grove;
Yet lowly shepherds sing to mighty Jove:
And mighty Jove attends the shepherds' vows,
And gracious what his suppliants ask bestows:
So by thy favour may the Muse be crown'd,
And plant her laurels in more fruitful ground;
The grateful Muse shall in return bestow
Her spreading laurels to adorn thy brow.

Thus, guarded by the tree of Jove, a flower Shoots from the earth, nor fears th' inclement And, when the fury of the storm is laid, [shower; Repays with sweets the hospitable shade.

Severe their lot, who, when they long endure The wounds of fortune, late receive a cure! Like ships in storms o'er liquid mountains tost, Ere they are sav'd must almost first be lost; But you with speed forbid distress to grieve: He gives by halves', who hesitates to give.

Thus, when an angel views mankind distrest, He feels compassion pleading in his breast; Instant the heavenly guardian cleaves the skies, And, pleas'd to save, on wings of lightning flies'.

Some the vain promises of courts betray;
And gayly straying, they are pleas'd to stray;
The flattering nothing still deludes their eyes,
Seems ever near, yet ever distant flies:.
As perspectives present the object nigh,
Though far remov'd from the mistaking exe

ADDITIONS.

Firm to thy king, and to thy country brave;
Loyal, yet free; a subject, not a slave;
Say, &c.

Few know to ask, or decently receive;
And fewer still with dignity to give :

If earn'd by flattery, gifts of highest price
Are not a bounty, but the pay of Vice.
Some wildly lavish, yet no friend obtain;
Nor are they generous, but absurd and vain.
Some give with surly pride and boisterous hands,
As Jove pours rain in thunder o'er the lands.
When Merit pleads, you meet it, and embrace,
And give the favour lustre by the grace;
So Phoebus to his warmth a glory joins,
Blessing the world, and while he blesses shines.
1 The lord Cornwallis, in a most obliging man-
ner, recommended the author to the rectory of
Pulham.

O'er dangerous marshes, or through thorny brakes;
Yet obstinate in wrong he toils to stray,
With many a weary stride, o'er many a painful way,
So man pursues the phantom of his brain,
And buys his disappointment with his pain:
At length when years invidiously destroy
The power to taste the long-expected joy,
Then Fortune envious sheds her golden show'rs,
Malignly smiles, and curses him with stores.

Thus o'er the urns of friends departed weep
The mournful kindred, and fond vigils keep;
Ambrosial ointments o'er their ashes shed,
And scatter useless roses on the dead;
And when no more avail the world's delights,
The spicy odours, and the solemn rites,
With fruitless pomp they deck the senseless tombs
And waste profusely floods of vain perfumes.

THE ROSE-BUD,

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

THE LADY JANE WHARTON,

QUEEN of fragrance, lovely Rose,
The beauties of thy leaves disclose!
The winter's past, the tempests fly,
Soft gales breathe gently through the sky
The lark sweet warbling on the wing
Salutes the gay return of Spring:
The silver dews, the vernal showers,
Call forth a bloomy waste of flowers;
The joyous fields, the shady woods,
Are cloth'd with green, or swell with buds
Then haste thy beauties to disclose,
Queen of fragrance, lovely Rose !

Thou, beauteous flower, a welcome guest,
Shalt flourish on the fair-one's breast,
Shalt grace her hand, or deck her hair,
The flower most sweet, the nymph most fair.
Breathe soft, ye winds! be calm, ye skies!
Arise, ye flowery race, arise!

And haste thy beauties to disclose,
Queen of fragrance, lovely Rose !

But thou, fair nymph, thyself survey

In this sweet offspring of a day:
That miracle of face must fail;

Thy charms are sweet, but charms are frail;
Swift as the short-liv'd flower they fly,
At morn they bloom, at evening die:
Though Sickness yet a while forbears,
Yet Time destroys what Sickness spares.
Now Helen lives alone in fame,
And Cleopatra 's but a name.
Time must indent that heavenly brow,
And thou must be, what they are now

This moral to the fair disclose,
Queen of fragrance, lovely Rose.

BELINDA AT THE BATH.

WHILE in these fountains bright Belinda laves,

She adds new virtues to the healing waves:
Thus in Bethesda's pool an angel stood,
Bad the soft waters heal, and blest the flood:
But from her eye such bright destruction flies,
In vain they flow! for her, the lover dies,

No more let Tagus boast, whose beds unfold
A shining treasure of all-conquering gold!
No more the Po?! whose wandering waters stray,
In mazy errours, through the starry way:
Henceforth these springs superior honours share ;
There Venus laves, but my Belinda here,

THE COY:

AN ODE.

Love is a noble rich repast,
But seldom should the lover taste;
When the kind fair no more restrains,
The glutton surfeits, and disdains.

To move the nymph, he tears bestows,
He vainly sighs, he falsely vows:
The tears deceive, the vows betray;
He conquers, and contemns the prey,
Thus Ammon's son with fierce delight
Smil'd at the terrours of the fight;

The thoughts of conquest charm'd his eyes,
He conquer'd, and he wept the prize,
Love, like a prospect, with delight
Sweetly deceives the distant sight,
Where the tir'd travellers survey,
O'er hanging rocks, a dangerous way,
Ye fair, that would victorious prove,
Seem but half kind, when most you love;
Damon pursues, if Celia flies;
But when her love is born, his dies,
Had Danaë the young, the fair,
Been free and unconfin'd as air,

Free from the guards and brazen tower,
She'd ne'er been worth a golden show'r,

Think then, O fairest of the fairer race, What fatal beauties arm thy heavenly face, Whose very shadow can such flames inspire; We see 'tis paint, and yet we feel 'tis fire.

See! with false life the lovely image glows, And every wondrous grace transplanted shows; Fatally fair the new creation reigns,

Charms in her shape, and multiplies our pains: Hence the fond youth, that ease by absence found, Views the dear form, and bleeds at every wound; Thus the bright Venus, though to Heaven she soar'd, Reign'd in her image, by the world ador'd.

Oh! wondrous power of mingled light and shades!
Where beauty with dumb eloquence persuades,
Where passions are beheld in picture wrought,
And animated colours look a thought:
Rare art! on whose command all nature waits!
It copies all Omnipotence creates :

Here crown'd with mountains earth expanded lies,
There the proud seas with all their billows rise:
If life be drawn, responsive to the thought
The breathing figures live throughout the draught;
The mimic bird in skies fictitious moves,
Or fancied beasts in imitated groves :
Ev'n Heaven it climbs; and from the forming hands
An angel here, and there a Townshend' stands.

Yet, painter, yet, though Art with Nature strive, Though ev'n the lovely phantom seem alive, Submit thy vanquish'd art! and own the draught, Though fair, defective, and a beauteous fault: Charms, such as hers, inimitably great,

He only can express, that can create,
Couldst thou extract the whiteness of the snow,
Or of its colours rob the heavenly bow,
Yet would her beauty triumph o'er thy skill,
Lovely in thee, herself more lovely still!

Thus in the limpid fountain we descry
The faint resemblance of the glittering sky;
Another Sun displays his lessen'd beams,
Another Heaven adorns the enlighten'd streams:
But though the scene be fair, yet high above
Th' exalted skies in nobler beauties move;
There the true Heaven's eternal lamps display
A deluge of inimitable day.

TO MR, POPE,

ON HIS WORKS. 1726.

LET vulgar souls triumpal arches raise,
And speaking marble, to record their praise;
Or carve with fruitless toil, to fame unknown,
The mimic feature on the breathing stone;
Mere mortals, subject to Death's total sway,
Reptiles of Earth, and beings of a day!
'Tis thine, on every heart to grave thy praise,
A monument which worth alone can raise;
Sure to survive, when Time shall whelm in dust
The arch, the marble, and the mimic bust;
Nor till the volumes of th' expanded sky
Blaze in one flame, shalt thou and Homer die
When sink together in the world's last fires
What Heaven created, and what Heaven inspires.
If aught on Earth, when once this breath is fled,
With human transport touch the mighty dead;

Now lady Cornwallis.

Thus when thy draughts, O Raphael, Time inAnd the bold figure froin the canvas fades; A rival hand recalls from every part Some latent grace, and equals art with art; Transported we survey the dubious strife, While the fair image starts again to life.

How long untun'd had Homer's sacred lyre Jarr'd grating discord, all extinct his fire! This you beheld; and, taught by Heaven to sing, Call'd the loud music from the sounding string. Now wak'd from slumbers of three thousand years, Once more Achilles in dread pomp appears, Towers o'er the field of Death; as fierce he turns, Keen flash his arms, and all the hero burns; His plume nods horrible, his helm on high With cheeks of iron glares against the sky; With martial stalk, and more than mortal might, He strides along, he meets the God in fight; Then the pale Titans, chain'd on burning floors, Start at the din that rends th' infernal shores;

Tremble the towers of Heaven; Earth rocks her

coasts;

And gloomy Pluto shakes with all his ghosts.
To every theme responds thy various lay;
Here pours a torrent, there meanders play:
Sonorous as the storm thy numbers rise,
Toss the wild waves, and thunder in the skies;
Or, softer than a yielding virgin's sigh,
The gentle breezes breathe away, and die.
How twangs the bow, when with a jarring spring
The whizzing arrows vanish from the string!
When giants strain, some rock's vast weight to shove,
The slow verse heaves, and the clogg'd words scarce
move;

But when from high it rolls with many a bound, Jumping it thundering whirls, and rushes to the ground:

[string,

Swift flows the verse, when winged lightnings fly,
Dart from the dazzled view, and flash along the sky;
Thus, like the radiant God who sheds the day,
The vale you paint, or guild the azure way;
And, while with every theme the verse complies,
Sink without groveling; without rashness, rise.
Proceed, great bard, awake th' harmonious
Be ours all Homer, still Ulysses sing!
Ev'n I, the meanest of the Muses' train,
Inflam'd by thee, attempt a nobler strain ;
Advent'rous waken the Mæonian lyre *,
Tun'd by your hand, and sing as you inspire:
So, arm'd by great Achilles for the fight,
Patroclus conquer'd in Achilles' might.
Like theirs our friendship! and I boast my name
To thine united, for thy friendship's fame.

How long Ulysses, by unskilful hands
Stript of his robes, a beggar trod our lands,
Such as he wander'd o'er his native coast,
Shrunk by the wand', and all the hero lost;
O'er his smooth skin a bark of wrinkles spread,
Old-age disgrac'd the honours of his head;

4 The author translated eight books of the Odyssey. See the 16th Odyssey, ver. 186, and 476.

Nor longer in his heavy eye-ball shin'd
The glance divine forth-beaming from the mind
But you, like Pallas, every limb infold
With royal robes, and bid him shine in gold;
Touch'd by your hand, his manly frame improves
With air divine, and like a god he moves.

This labour past, of heavenly subjects sing,
While hovering angels listen on the wing;
To hear from Earth such heart-felt raptures rise,
As, when they sing, suspended hold the skies:
Or, nobly rising in fair Virtue's cause,
From thy own life transcribe th' unerring laws;
Teach a bad world beneath her sway to bend,
To verse like thine fierce savages attend,
And men more fierce! When Orpheus tunes the lay
Ev'n fiends, relenting, hear their rage away,

PART OF THE TENTH BOOK OF

THE ILIADS OF HOMER,

IN THE STYLE OF MILTON.

Now high advanc'd the night, o'er all the hast
Sleep shed his softest balm; restless alone
Atrides lay, and cares revolv'd on cares.

As when with rising vengeance gloomy Jove
Pours down a watʼry deluge, or in storms
Of hail or snow commands the goary jaws
Of War to roar; through all the kindling skies,
With flaming wings on lightnings lightnings play!
So while Atrides meditates the war,

Sighs after sighs burst from his manly breast,
And shake his inmost soul: round o'er the fields
To Troy he turns his eyes, and round beholds
A thousand fires blaze dreadful; through his ear
Passes the direful symphony of war,
Of fife, or pipe, and the loud hum of hosts
Strikes him dismay'd: now o'er the Grecian tents
Rends the fair curl in sacrifice to Jove,
His eyes he rolls; now from his royal head

And his brave heart heaves with imperial woes.
Thus groans the thoughtful king; at length resolve
To seek the Pylian sage, in wise debate
To ripen high designs, and from the sword
Preserve his banded legions. Pale and sad
Uprose the monarch: instant o'er his breast
A robe he threw, and on his royal feet
Glitter'd th' embroider'd sandals: o'er his back
A dreadful ornament, a lion's spoils,
With hideous grace down to his ankles hung;
Fierce in his hand he grasp'd a glittering spear.

With equal care was Menelaus toss'd :
Sleep from his temples fled, his generous heart
Felt all his people's woes, who in his cause
Stemm'd the proud main, and nobly stood in arms
Confronting Death: a leopard's spotted spoils
Terrific clad his limbs, a brazen helm
Beam'd on his head, and in his hand a spear.
Forth from his tent the royal Spartan strode
To wake the king of men; him wak'd he found
Clasping his polish'd arms; with rising joy
The heroes meet, the Spartan thus begun:
"Why thus in arms, my prince? Send'st thou some
To view the Trojan host? Alas! I fear [spy
Lest the most dauntless sons of glorious War
Shrink at the bold design! This task demands

▲ soul, resolv'd to pass the gloom of night,
And 'midst her legion search the powers of Troy."
"O prince," he cries, "in this disastrous hour
Greece all our counsel claims, now, now demands
Our deepest cares! the power omnipotent
Frowns on our arms, but smiles with aspect mild
On Hector's incense: Heavens! what son of Fame,
Renown'd in story, e'er such deeds achiev'd
In a whole life, as in one glorious day
This favourite of the skies? and yet a man!
A mortal! born to die! but such his deeds
As future Grecians shall repeat with tears
To children yet unborn.-But haste, repair
To Ajax and Idomeneus: we wake
Ourself the Pylian sage, to keep the guards
On duty, by his care; for o'er the guards
His son presides nocturnal, and in arms
His great compeer, Meriones the bold."

"But say," rejoins the prince," these orders borne,
There shall I stay, or measuring back the shores,
To thee return ""No more return," replies
The king of hosts, "lest treading different ways
We meet no more; for through the camp the ways
Lie intricate and various: but aloud
Wake every Greek to martial fame and arms;
Teach them to emulate their godlike sires;
And thou awhile forget thy royal birth,
And share a soldier's cares: the proudest king
Is but exalted dust; and when great Jove
Call'd us to life, and gave us royal power,
He gave a sad preeminence of woes."

He spoke, and to the tent of Nestor turns
His step majestic: on his couch he found
The hoary warrior; all around him lay

His arms, the shield, the spears, the radiant helm,
And scarf of various dye: with these array'd,
The reverend father to the field of Fame
Led his bold files; for, with a brave disdain,
Old as he was, he scorn'd the ease of age.

Sudden the monarch starts, and half uprais'd,
Thus to the king aloud: "What art thou, say
y?
Why in the camp alone? while others sleep,
Why wanderest thou obscure the midnight hours?
Seekst thou some centinel, or absent friend?
Speak instant!-Silent to advance, is death!"
"O pride of Greece," the plaintive king returns,
Here in thy tent thou Agamemnon view'st,
A prince, the most unhappy of mankind;
Woes I endure, which none but kings can feel,
Which ne'er will cease until forgot in death:
Pensive I wander through the damp of night,
Through the cold damp of night; distress'd; alone!
And sleep is grown a stranger to my eyes:
The weight of all the war, the load of woes
That presses every Greek, united falls
On me the cares of all the host are mine!
Grief discomposes, and distracts my thoughts;
My restless panting heart, as if it strove
To force its prison, beats against my sides!
My strength is fail'd, and even my feet refuse
To bear so great a load of wretchedness!

"But if thy wakeful cares (for o'er thy head Wakeful the hours glide on) have aught matur'd Useful, the thought unfold: but rise, my friend, Visit with me the watches of the night; Lest tir'd they sleep, while Troy with all her war Hangs o'er our tents, and now, perhaps ev'n now Arms her proud bands. Arise, my friend, arise !"

To whom the Pylian: "Think not, mighty king,
Jove ratifies vain Hector's haughty views;
A sudden, sad reverse of mighty woes
Waits that audacious victor, when in arms
Dreadful Achilles shines. But now thy steps
Nestor attends. Be it our care to wake

Sage Ithacus, and Diomed the brave,
Meges the bold, and in the race renown'd
Oilean Ajax. To the ships that guard
Outmost the camp, some other speed his way
To raise stern Ajax and the Cretan king.
But love, nor reverence to the mighty name
Of Menelaus, nor thy wrath, O king,
Shall stop my free rebuke: sleep is a crime
When Agamemnon wakes; on him it lies
To share thy martial toils, to court the peers
To act the men: this hour claims all our cares."

Reserve," rejoins the king, "for future hour Thy generous anger. Seems the royal youth Remiss? 'tis not through indolence of soul, But deference to our power; for our commands He waits, and follows when we lead the way. This night, disdaining rest, his steps he bent To our pavilion: now th' illustrious peers, Rais'd at his call, a chosen synod stand Before the gates: haste, Nestor, haste away." To whom the sage well pleas'd: "In such brave No Greek will envy power: with loyal joy [hande Subjects obey, when men of worth command."

He added not, but o'er his manly breast Flung a rich robe: beneath his royal feet The glittering sandals shone: a soft, large vest, Florid with purple wool, his aged limbs Graceful adorn'd: tipt with a star of brass A ponderous lance he grasp'd, and strode away To wake sage Ithacus. Aloud his voice He rais'd: his voice was heard, and from his tent Instant Ulysses spring; and, "Why," he cry'd, "Why thus abroad in the chill hours of night? What new distress invades ?"--"Forgive my cares," Reply'd the hoary sage; "for Greece I wake, Greece and her dangers bring me to thy tent: But haste, our wakeful peers in council meet; This, this one night determines flight or war."

Swift at the word he seiz'd his ample shield, And strode along; and now they bend their way To wake the brave Tydides: him they found Stretch'd on the earth, array'd in shining arms, And round, his brave companions of the war: Their shields sustain'd their heads; erect their spears Shot through th' illumin'd air a streaming ray, Keen as Jove's lightning wing'd athwart the skies. Thus slept the chief: beneath him on the ground A savage bull's black hide was roll'd; his head A splendid carpet bore. The slumbering king The Pylian gently with these words awakes:

"Rise, son of Tydeus! ill, a whole night's rest Suits with the brave! and sleep'st thou, while proud Troy

Hangs o'er our tents, and from yon joining hill Prepares her war? Awake, my friend, awake!"

Sudden the chief awoke, and mildly gave This soft reply: "Oh! cruel to thy age, Thou good old man! ne'er wilt thou, wilt thou cease To burthen age with cares? Has Greece no youths To wake the peers? unweary'd man, to hear At once the double load of toils, and years!"