And all the space a silent air assumes!
Save where some drunkard from the Brace[12] takes flight,
And drowsy converse lulls the distant rooms.
Save that from yonder Strong Room,[13] close confined,
Some noisy wight does to the night complain,
Of Mister Jones, the marshal, who, unkind
Has, by a week’s confinement, check’d his reign.
Within those strong-built walls, down that parade,
Where lie the stones all paved in order fair,
Each in his narrow room by bailiffs laid,