LIV.
An owl-frequented bowre, some tents were spred;
Here sat a Throng, with eager furious stare
Rattling the dice; and there, with eyes halfe dead,
Some drowsie Dronkards, looking black and red,
Dozd out their days: and by the path-way green
A sprightlie Troupe still onward heedlesse sped,
In chace of butterflies alert and keen;
Honours, and Wealth, and Powre, their butterflies I ween.
LV.
Into the Cave they wend with sullen pace;
Each to his meet apartment dernly fares:
Here, all in raggs, in piteous plight most bace,
The Dronkard sitts; there, shent with foul disgrace,
The thriftlesse Heir; and o'er his reeking blade
Red with his Friends heart gore, in woefull cace
The Duellist raves; and there, on vetchie bed,
Crazd with his vaine pursuits, the Maniack bends his head.
