On Dr. Sangrado'S Flight[76]

From Philadelphia, in the Time of the Yellow Fever--1793

On prancing steed, with spunge at nose, From town behold Sangrado fly; Camphor and Tar where'er he goes Th' infected shafts of death defy-- Safe in an atmosphere of scents, He leaves us to our own defence.

'Twas right to fly! for well, I ween, In Stygian worlds, all scribes agree, No blushing blossom e'er was seen, Or running brook, or budding tree: No splendid meats, no flowing bowls, Smile on the meagre feast of souls:

No sprightly songs, to banish grief, No balls, the Elysian beaus prepare, And he that throve on rounds of beef, On onion shells shall famish there-- Monarchs are there of little note, And Cæsar wears a shabby coat.

Chloes on earth, of air and shape, Whose eyes destroy'd poor love-lorn wights, There lower their topsails to the cap, Rig in their booms and furl their kites:-- Where Cupid's bow was never bent, What lover asks a maid's consent?

All this, and more, Sangrado knew, (In Lucian is the story told) Took horse--clapped spurs--and off he flew, Leaving his Sick to fret and scold; Some soldiers, thus, to honour lost, In day of battle quit their post.

the title "Orlando's Flight." Text from the 1809 edition.