English

Which (though old freinds part ill) is recompence
For a few Goth , and Vandal ornaments,
And all these glories glitter to the sight
By the advantage of a clearer light.
The Glaziers work before substantial was
I must confess, thrice as much lead, as glass,
Which in the Suns Meridian , cast a light,
As it had been within an hour of night.
The windows now look like so many Suns,
Illustrating the noble Room at once:
The primitive Casements modell'd were no doubt
By that through which the Pigeon was thrust out,

The Groves , whose curled brows shade every Lake ,
Do every where such waving Landskips make,
As Painters baffl'd Art is far above,
Who waves, and leaves could never yet make move.
Hither the warbling People of the Air
From their remoter Colonies repair,
And in these shades, now setting up their rests,
Like Caesars Swiss , burn their old native nests.
The Muses too pearch on the bending spraies
And in these thickets chant their charming Lates ;
No wonder then if the Heroick Song
That here took birth, and voice do flourish long.

And then he stirr'd, rowling his heavy eye
Towards the vault of the enamell'd skie,
Which now thick set with sparkling Stars he sees,
That but of late had been no firends of his,
And by the favour of the twinkling light,
The Castle too appear'd above in sight.
By which he faintly recollected where
His Worship was, though not how he came there:
But this small sence dide opportunely come
To help him make a shift to stumble home.
Thither he comes, and knocking at the door
(Though not so hard as he was knockt before)

Than only stooping with our sticks t'essay,
If pottering this, and that way, we could find
How deep it went; or which way it did wind.
Though 'twas in vain; for the low bending Rock
Did those ridiculous endeavours mock,
This the fourth River is, although of more
Than three, and one unfoardable, before
None ever heard, and if a further shoar,
Belong to this, none ever past it ore;
Nothing with Legs, and Arms can come unto't,
They must be Finns , and 'tis a Fish must do't.
But I am well assured none ever was

A suddain noise striking th'astonish't ear,
We neither could guess what, nor tell from whence,
Strook us into amazement, and suspence.
We stood all mute, and pallid with the sight;
A paleness so increast by paler light,
That ev'ry wand a Caduce did appear,
As we a Caravan of dead folks were:
But really so terrible a sound
Sure ne're was heard above, or under ground.
To which the difficulties we had had,
And horror of the place did so much add,
That it was long before a word came out
To ask a question, or resolve a doubt.

The poor design above to this below.
Two Tuscan columns jutting from the wall,
With each his proper Base , and Capital ,
Support a well-turn'd Arch , and of one piece,
With all its Mouldings , Frize , and Coronice .
Oh, who that sees these things, but must reflect
With wonder on th'Almighty Architect ,
Whose works all humane Art so far excell?
For doubtless he that Heaven made, made Hell .
This leads into a handsom Room, wherein
A Bason stands with waters Crystalline,
To welcome such, as, once at least, shall grace

For human Feet , or for the armed Hoof ,
Above you, and below all precipice,
You still advance towards the Court of Dis .
Over this cawsey as you forward go,
On your right hand cross the deep course below,
You see the Fountains long imprison'd streams,
Leap out to wanton in the Sun's warm beams.
There through a marble Pipe some two foot wide,
And deeper than a Pikes -length can decide,
Sick of long wandring in those invious caves ,
She here disgorges her tumultuous waves,
With such a force, that if you coit a stone,

Though Neighbours, if they nearer would enquire,
Must needs perceive the pilling Cliff retire:
And the most cursory beholder may
Visibly see a manifestdecay,
By Jutting stones, that by the Earth left bare
Hang on the trip suspended in the Air.
This haughty Mountain by indulgent Fame
Prefer'd t'a Wonder, Mam-Tor has to name;
Tor in that Country Jargon's uncouth sence
Expressing any craggy eminence,
From Tower ; but then why Mam , I cann't surmise,
Unless because Mother to that does rise

And, to draw on good wages, said 'twas late,
And grew so dark, that though he knew the way,
He durst not be so confident, to say
He might not miss it in so dark a night:
But if his Worship would be pleas'd t'alight,
And let him call a Friend, he made no doubt,
But one of them would surely find it out.
The Traveller well pleased at any rate,
To have so expert Guides , dismounted straight,
Giving his horse up to the treach'rous slave,
Who having hous'd him, forthwith fell to heave
And poize the Portmantu , which finding fraight

Look down into the Chasme , and keeps his hair
From lifting off his hat, either has none,
Or for more modish curls casheers his own.
It were injurious I must confess,
By mine to measure braver Courages:
But when I peep into't, I must declare,
My heart still beats, and eyes with horror stare.
And he, that standing on the brink of Hell ,
Can carry it so unconcern'd, and well,
As to betray no fear, is, certainly,
A better Christian , or a worse than I.

This yawning mouth is thirty paces long,