With nothing dreadful, but with nothing new;
Nothing to bring them joy, to make them weep—
The day itself is, like the night, asleep;
Or, on the sameness if a break be made,
'Tis by some pauper to his grave convey'd;
By smuggled news from neighb'ring village told,
News never true, or truth a twelvemonth old;
180
By some new inmate doom'd with them to dwell,
Or justice come to see that all goes well;