665 Like one who rubs out an account, Smoothing away the unmeaning furrows:   4.  'It happens fortunately, dear Sir, I can. I hope I need require No pledge from you, that he will stir 670 In our affairs;—like Oliver. That he'll be worthy of his hire.'   5. These words exchanged, the news sent off To Peter, home the Devil hied,—  Took to his bed; he had no cough, 675 No doctor,—meat and drink enough.—  Yet that same night he died. 6. The Devil's corpse was leaded down; His decent heirs enjoyed his pelf, Mourning-coaches, many a one, 680 Followed his hearse along the town:—  Where was the Devil himself? 7. When Peter heard of his promotion, His eyes grew like two stars for bliss:  There was a bow of sleek devotion 685 Engendering in his back; each motion Seemed a Lord's shoe to kiss. 8. He hired a house, bought plate, and made A genteel drive up to his door, With sifted gravel neatly laid,—                               690 As if defying all who said, Peter was ever poor. 9. But a disease soon struck into The very life and soul of Peter—  He walked about—slept—had the hue 695 Of health upon his cheeks—and few Dug better—none a heartier eater. 10. And yet a strange and horrid curse Clung upon Peter, night and day; Month after month the thing grew worse, 700 And deadlier than in this my verse I can find strength to say. 11. Peter was dull—he was at first Dull—oh, so dull—so very dull! Whether he talked, wrote, or rehearsed—                        705 Still with this dulness was he cursed—  Dull—beyond all conception—dull. 12. No one could read his books—no mortal, But a few natural friends, would hear him; The parson came not near his portal; 710 His state was like that of the immortal Described by Swift—no man could bear him. 13. His sister, wife, and children yawned, With a long, slow, and drear ennui, All human patience far beyond; 715 Their hopes of Heaven each would have pawned, Anywhere else to be. 14. But in his verse, and in his prose, The essence of his dulness was Concentred and compressed so close, 720  'Twould have made Guatimozin doze On his red gridiron of brass. 15. A printer's boy, folding those pages, Fell slumbrously upon one side; Like those famed Seven who slept three ages. 725 To wakeful frenzy's vigil—rages, As opiates, were the same applied. 16. Even the Reviewers who were hired To do the work of his reviewing, With adamantine nerves, grew tired;—            

 Prev. P 15/16 next