Should even the smile incredulous appear,
Woe to its author, luckless his career!
Oh, the sharp pains which seemed to vex his bones,
How grievous ’twas to hear his piteous moans!
At midnight hour, when bites and itching smart
Assailed his flesh and saddened his poor heart,
Even his household gods seemed leagued to slay
His bosom’s peace and drive his joys away;
On his own threshold his unwary feet
Would stumbling slip and sad disaster meet;