Against
ILL-NATURE
.
I.
OFSPRING
of
folly
and
of
pride
,
To
all
that's
odious
,
all
that's
base
allied
;
Nurs'd
up
by
vice
,
by
pravity
missed
,
By
pedant
affectation
taught
and
bred
:
Away
,
thou
hideous
hell-born
spright
,
Go
,
with
thy
looks
of
dark
design
,
Sullen
,
sour
,
and
saturnine
;
Fly
to
some
gloomy
shade
,
nor
blot
the
goodly
light
.
Thy
planet
was
remote
,
when
I
was
born
;
'Twas
Mercury
that
rul'd
my
natal
morn
,
What
time
the
sun
exerts
his
genial
ray
,
And
ripens
for
enjoyment
every
growing
day
;
When
to
exist
is
but
to
love
and
sing
,
And
sprightly
Aries
smiles
upon
the
spring
.
II
.
There
in
yon
lonesome
heath
,
Which
Flora
,
or
Sylvanus
never
knew
,
Where
never
vegetable
drank
the
dew
,
Or
beast
,
or
fowl
attempts
to
breathe
;
Where
Nature's
pencil
has
no
colours
laid
;
But
all
is
blank
,
and
universal
shade
;
Contrast
to
figure
,
motion
,
life
and
light
,
There
may'st
thou
vent
thy
spight
,
For
ever
cursing
,
and
for
ever
curs'd
,
Of
all
th'
infernal
crew
the
worst
;
The
worst
in
genius
,
measure
and
degree
;
For
envy
,
hatred
,
malice
,
are
but
parts
of
thee
.
III
.
Or
woud'st
thou
change
the
scene
,
and
quit
thy
den
,
Behold
the
heav'n-deserted
fen
,
Where
spleen
,
by
vapours
dense
begot
and
bred
,
Hardness
of
heart
,
and
heaviness
of
head
,
Have
rais'd
their
darksome
walls
,
and
plac'd
their
thorny
bed
;
There
may'st
thou
all
thy
bitterness
unload
,
There
may'st
thou
croak
,
in
concert
with
the
toad
,
With
thee
the
hollow
howling
winds
shall
join
,
Nor
shall
the
bittern
her
base
throat
deny
,
The
querulous
frogs
shall
mix
their
dirge
with
thine
,
Th'
ear-piercing
hern
,
and
plover
screaming
high
,
While
million
humming
gnats
fit
oestrum
shall
supply
.
IV
.
Away
—
away
—
behold
an
hideous
band
An
herd
of
all
thy
minions
are
at
hand
,
Suspicion
first
with
jealous
caution
stalks
,
And
ever
looks
around
her
as
she
walks
,
With
bibulous
ear
imperfect
sounds
to
catch
,
And
prompt
to
listen
at
her
neighbours
latch
.
Next
Scandal's
meagre
shade
,
Foe
to
the
virgins
,
and
the
poet's
fame
,
A
wither'd
,
time-deflow'red
old
maid
,
That
ne'er
enjoy'd
love's
ever
sacred
flame
.
Hypocrisy
succeeds
with
saint-like
look
,
And
elevates
her
hands
and
plods
upon
her
book
.
Next
comes
illiberal
scrambling
Avarice
,
Then
Vanity
and
Affectation
nice
—
See
,
she
salutes
her
shadow
with
a
bow
As
in
short
Gallic
trips
she
minces
by
,
Starting
antipathy
is
in
her
eye
,
And
squeamishly
she
knits
her
scornful
brow
.
To
thee
,
Ill-Nature
,
all
the
numerous
group
With
lowly
reverence
stoop
—
They
wait
thy
call
,
and
mourn
thy
long
delay
,
Away
—
thou
art
infectious
—
haste
away
.