However devious. Spread thy black'ning cloud
O'er this fair face of parchment—Haste, dispatch
This cumbrous load of things. On, quicker on,
And rid me of the bus'ness of the Term.
Then in reward for all thy service past
(Tho' gratitude be held a crime) thy plume
With gold shall blazon. Safe in silver case
Shalt thou recline, from vulgar ken remote,
Nor ever visit more the sons of care,
Unless to win respect, and be admir'd."