LXXIX.

And hence high life is oft a dreary void, A rack of pleasures, where we must invent A something wherewithal to be annoyed. Bards may sing what they please about _Content_; _Contented_, when translated, means but cloyed; And hence arise the woes of Sentiment, Blue-devils--and Blue-stockings--and Romances Reduced to practice, and performed like dances.