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Each with never-ceasing labour,
Cheating his own heart of quiet.
And all these meet at levees;
Dinners convivial and political ; Suppers of epic poets ; teas, Where small talk dies in agonies ;
Breakfasts professional and critical ;
Lunches and snacks so aldermanic
That one would furnish forth ten dinners,
Should make some losers, and some winners ;
Conventicles and drawing-rooms-
And this is Hell—and in this smother
Are all damnable and damned; Each one damning, damns the other; They are damned by one another,
By none other are they damned.
'Tis a lie to say,
66 God damns!'
* This libel on our national oath, and this accusation of all our countrymen of being in the daily practice of solemnly
Where was Heaven's Attorney-General
They are mines of poisonous mineral.
Statesmen damn themselves to be
Cursed ; and lawyers damn their souls
God's sweet love in burning coals.
The rich are damned, beyond all cure,
To taunt, and starve, and trample on The weak and wretched ; and the poor Damn their broken hearts to endure
Stripe on stripe, with groan on groan :
Sometimes the poor are damned indeed
To take,-not means for being blest,But Cobbett's snuff, revenge ; that weed From which the worms that it doth feed
Squeeze less than they before possessed :
And some few, like we know who,
Damned—but God alone knows why-
In which faith they live and die. asseverating the most enormous falsehood, I fear deserves the notice of a more active Attorney-General than that here alluded to.
Thus, as in a town, plague-stricken,
Each man be he sound or no
None knows a pigeon from a crow;
So good and bad, sane and mad,
The oppressor and the oppressed'; Those who weep to see what others Smile to inflict upon their brothers ;
Lovers, haters, worst and best ;
All are damned—they breathe the air,
Thick, infected, joy-dispelling: Each pursues what seems most fair, Mining like moles through mind, and there Scoop palace-caverns vast, where Care
In throned state is ever dwelling.
PART THE FOURTH.
Lo, Peter in Hell's Grosvenor-square,
A footman in the devil's service! And the misjudging world would swear That every man in service there
To virtue would prefer vice.
But Peter, though now damned, was not
What Peter was before damnation.
Suits with their genuine station.
All things that Peter saw and felt
Had a peculiar aspect to him;
his own nature, seemed to melt,
And so the outward world uniting
To that within him, he became
Were moulded in a different frame.
And he scorned them, and they scorned him ;
And he scorned all they did ; and they
Drinking, lying, swearing, play.
Such were his fellow-servants; thus
His virtue, like our own, was built Too much on that indignant fuss Hypocrite Pride stirs up in us
To bully out another's guilt.
He had a mind which was somehow
At once circumference and centre Of all he might or feel or know; Nothing went ever out, although
Something did ever enter.
He had as much imagination
As a pint-pot;-he never could Fancy another situation, From which to dart his contemplation,
Than that wherein he stood.
Yet his was individual mind,
And new-created all he saw
Them, by a master-spirit's law.
An apprehension clear, intense, Of his mind's work, had made alive The things it wrought on; I believe
Wakening a sort of thought in sense.
But from the first 'twas Peter's drift
To be a kind of moral eunuch; He touched the hem of nature's shift, Felt faint-and never dared uplift
The closest, all-concealing tunic.