The Court Of Death.
By John Gay
Once on a time, in solemn state,
Death, in his pomp of terror, sate.
Attendant on his gloomy reign,
Sadness and Madness, Woe and Pain,
His vassal train. With hollow tone
The tyrant muttered from his throne:
"We choose a minister to-night;
Let him who wills prefer his right,
And unto the most worthy hand
We will commit the ebon wand."
Fever stood forth: "And I appeal
To weekly bills to show my zeal.
Repelled, repulsed, I persevere;
Often quotidian through a year."
Gout next appeared to urge his claim
For the racked joints of tortured frame:
He, too, besieged the man oppressed,
Nor would depart, although suppressed.
Then Rheumatics stept forth, and said:
"I plague them as they lie in bed."
Whilst Palsy said: "I make them stumble;
When they get up, I make them tumble."
Then quick Consumption, slow Decline,
Put in their claims, on counts malign;
And Plague preferred his rapid power
To weed a nation in an hour.
At the first pause, the monarch said:
"Merit of modesty was bred.
Does no physician strive with these?
Physicians are content with fees.
I say, give Drunkenness the wand;
There, give it to his drunken hand.
For wary men, as foes, detest
You, Rheumatics - who break their rest -
Fever, and Gout, who here contend;
But Drunkenness they think their friend,
Invite him to their feasts: he shares
Alike their merriments and cares.
He for another magnum calls
At weddings, births, and funerals."