“‘At hell’s dread mouth a thousand monsters wait;—
Grief weeps, and Vengeance bellows in the gate;
Base Want, low Fear, and Famine’s lawless rage,
And pale Disease, and slow, repining Age;
Fierce, formidable Fiends the portals keep,
With Pain, Toil, Death, and Death’s half-brother, Sleep.
There Joys, embittered by Remorse, appear,
Daughter of Guilt; here storms destructive War.
Mad Discord there her snaky tresses tore;
Here stretched on iron beds the Furies roar;