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Seeing the Image Dust and Filth disgrace, 



Tis said fantastic Tears bedewed Lis Face : 



Nay, thinking Tears too weak to tell his Pain, 



The Pensive Ghost did thus in Words complain : 



Unhappy King, whose Glory thus depends, 



Precarious on the Pleasure of false Friends ! 



Ungrateful City ! whose unworthy Care 



Cannot afford King Bladud Cloaths to wear ! 



Two upstart Princes of a modern Race, 



That scarce in History deserve a Place, 



Our ent'ring Street with dazling Splendor grace, 



One in Imperial Eobes of Scarlet Hue, 



Extends his Sceptre to the public View : 



The other dress'd in shining Armour stands. 



And with drawn Sword the Market Place commands 



Whilst I, who first these wondrous Waters found, 



And was by Fame with gilded Laurels crown'd, 



Must now in vile Oblivion pass my Days, 



My Brows with Cobwebs wreath'd instead of Bays. 



No Robes of State my naked Limbs adorn, 



Unflourish'd, unregarded, and forlorn, 



I stand expos'd to be the vulgar Scorn : 



There's not a Rascal passes through the Gate, 



But grins to see me share so mean a Rate ; 



And sneering Cries, Faith, 'tis a Dev'lish Thing 



That they should make a Porter of a King. 



Is this the Thanks ? Is this the Homage due I 



That I expected should be paid by you 1 



Did I for this with such assiduous Pain 



The Knowledge of mysterious Nature gain ? 



From them you borrow Health, and Life, and Fame, 



Sure some Regard for me the Waters claim. 



They and their Virtues had been still conceal'd 



If by my Care they had not been reveal'd ; 



My Art and Fortune did so well agree, 



That what you owe the Springs you owe to me. 



And I you know have been full often bound 



