And all around dilapidates; you call -
But none replies - they’re inattentive all:
At length a ruin’d stable holds your steed,
While you through large and dirty rooms proceed,
Spacious and cold; a proof they once had been
In honour, - now magnificently mean;
Till in some small half-furnish’d room you rest,
Whose dying fire denotes it had a guest.
In those you pass’d, where former splendour reign’d,
You saw the carpets torn, the paper stain’d;