As when a traveller, a long day past
In painful search of what he cannot find,
At night’s approach, content with the next cot,
There ruminates, a while, his labour lost;
Then cheers his heart with what his fate affords,
And chants his sonnet to deceive the time,
Till the due season calls him to repose:
Thus I, long-travell’d in the ways of men,
And dancing, with the rest, the giddy maze,
Where Disappointment smiles at Hope’s career; 10