And so will indulge in another good nap.”
His heavy hydropical carcase he turns,
And sinks in uneasy intemperate rest,
Till dim in his bosom the lamp of life burns,
While snorting with nightmare and plethora prest.
What horrible visions his bed hover o’er,
The phantoms of spleen, the blue devils dire,
Like Gorgons and Hydras of fabulous lore,
Or red dragons belching whole rivers of fire.
Now clings to the side of a prominent steep,