Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/303

Here, in their proper shape and mien,
Fraud, perjury, and guilt, are seen.
Necessity, the tyrant's law,
All human race must hither draw;
All prompted by the same desire,
The vigorous youth, and aged sire.
Behold, the coward and the brave,
The haughty prince, the humble slave,
Physician, lawyer, and divine,
All make oblations at this shrine.
Some enter boldly, some by stealth,
And leave behind their fruitless wealth.
For, while the bashful sylvan maid,
As half asham’d, and half afraid,
Approaching finds it hard to part
With that which dwelt so near her heart;
The courtly dame, unmov'd by fear,
Profusely pours her offerings here.
A treasure here of learning lurks,
Huge heaps of never-dying works:
Labours of many an ancient sage,
And millions of the present age.
In at this gulf all offerings pass,
And lie an undistinguished mass,
Deucalion, to restore mankind,
Was bid to throw the stones behind;
So those who here their gifts convey
Are forc’d to look another way;
For few, a chosen few, must know
The mysteries that lie below.
Sad charnelhouse! a dismal dome,
For which all mortals leave their home!
The young, the beautiful, and brave,

Here bury'd in one common grave!