To see each joy the sons of pleasure know

Extorted from his fellow-creatures’ woe.

Here while the courtier glitters in brocade,

There the pale artist plies the sickly trade;

Here while the proud their long-drawn pomps display,

There the black gibbet glooms beside the way.

The dome where Pleasure holds her midnight reign,

Here, richly decked, admits the gorgeous train;

Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square—

The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare.