CXXXVI.

That hour is not for us, but 't is for you: And as, in the great joy of your Millennium, You hardly will believe such things were true As now occur, I thought that I would pen you 'em; But may their very memory perish too!-- Yet if perchance remembered, still disdain you 'em More than you scorn the savages of yore, Who _painted_ their _bare_ limbs, but _not_ with gore.