English

North-East from hence three Peakish Miles at least,
(Which who once measures will dread all the rest)
At th'instep of just such another Hill,
There creeps a Spring that makes a little Rill,
Which at first sight to curious Visiters,
So small, and so contemptible appears,
They'd think themselves abus'd, did they not stay
To see wherein the wonder of it lay.
This Fountain is so very very small,
Th'Observer hardly can perceive it crawl
Thorough the sedg, which scarcely in their beds

You there with far less painful steps, but yet
More dangerous still, the way you came repeat,
Your Peake-bred Convoy of rude Men and Boys,
All the way whooting with that dreadful noise,
A man would think it were the dismal yell
Of Souls tormented in the flames of Hell;
And I almost believ'd it, by the face
Our Masters give us of that unknown place.
But being conducted with this Triumph back,
Before y'are yet permitted leave to take
Of this Infernal Mansion , you must see

For all the Art the Chizel could apply,
Ne're wrought such curious folds of Drapery .
Of this the figure is, as men should crowd
A vast Colossus in a Marble shrowd,
And yet the pleats so soft , and flowing are,
As finest folds , from finest looms they were;
But, far as hands can reach to give a blow,
By the rude Clowns broke, and disfigur'd so,
As may be well suppos'd, when all that come,
Carry some piece of the Rock Crystal home.
Of all these Rarities , this alone can claim
A doubtless right to everlasting fame,

Which hanging, pent-house-like, does overlook
The dreadful Channel of the rapid Brook,
So deep, and black, the very thought does make
My brains turn giddy, and my eye-balls ake.
Over this dangerous Precipice you crawl,
Lost if you slip, for if you slip you fall;
But whither, faith 'tis no great matter, when
Y'are sure ne'er to be seen alive agen.
Propt round with Peasants , on you trembling go,
Whilst, every step you take, your Guides do show
In the uneven Rock the uncouth shapes
Of Men , of Lions, Horses, Dogs , and Apes :

Durst I expostulate with Providence ,
I then should ask, wherein the innocence
Of my poor undesigning infancy,
Could Heaven offend to such a black degree,
As for th'offence to damn me to a place
Where Nature only suffers in disgrace.
A Country so deform'd, the Traveller
Would swear those parts Natures pudenda were:
Like Warts and Wens , hills on the one side swell,
To all but Natives inaccessible;
Th'other a blue scrofulous scum defiles,
Flowing from th'earths impostumated boyles;

XXV, 1

There's force to this cold sun, makes beard stubble stand shinily. We look, we pretend great things to our glass — rubbing our chin: This is a profound comedian who grimaces deeds into slothful breasts. This is a sleepy president, without followers save oak leaves — but their coats are of the wrong color. This is a farmer — plowed a field in his dreams and since that time — goes stroking the weeds that choke his furrows. This is a poet left his own country —

XXIV, 2

Pathology literally speaking is a flower garden. Syphilis covers the body with salmon-red petals. The study of medicine is an inverted sort of horticulture. Over and above all this floats the philosophy of disease which is a stern dance. One of its most delightful gestures is bringing flowers to the sick .

XIV, 2

KORA IN Hell : I MPROVISATIONS

II, 1

Why go further? One might conceivably rectify the rhythm, study all out and arrive at the perfection of a tiger lily or a china doorknob. One might lift all out of the ruck, be a worthy successor to — the man in the moon. Instead of breaking the back of a willing phrase why not try to follow the wheel through — approach death at a walk, take in all the scenery. There's as much reason one way as the other and then — one never knows — perhaps we'll bring back Euridice — this time!

Nelly kissed me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief, who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in.
Say I'm jaundiced, say I'm sad,
Say that health and wealth have missed me,
Say I'm growing old, but add,
Nelly kissed me.