"Gold, thou bright son of Phœbus, source
Of universal intercourse;
Of weeping Virtue soft redress:
And blessing those who live to bless:
Ye oft behold this sacred trust,
The tool of avaricious lust;
No longer bond of human kind,
But bane of every virtuous mind.
What chaos such misuse attends,
Friendship stoops to prey on friends;
Health, that gives relish to delight,
Is wasted with the wasting night;
Doubt and mistrust is thrown on Heaven,
And all its power to chance is given.
Sad purchase of repentant tears,
Of needless quarrels, endless fears,
Of hopes of moments, pangs of years!
Sad purchase of a tortur'd mind,
To an imprison'd body join'd."
[Illustration: THE RAKE'S PROGRESS, PLATE VI.]
Though now, from the infatuated folly of his antiquated wife, in
possession of a fortune, he is still the slave of that baneful vice
which, while it enslaves the mind, poisons the enjoyments, and sweeps
away the possessions of its deluded votaries. Destructive as the
earthquake which convulses nature, it overwhelms the pride of the
forest, and engulfs the labours of the architect.
Newmarket and the cock-pit were the scenes of his early amusements;
to crown the whole, he is now exhibited at a gaming-table, where
all is lost! His countenance distorted with agony, and his soul
agitated almost to madness, he imprecates vengeance upon his own
head.
"In heartfelt bitter anguish he appears,
And from the bloodshot ball gush purpled tears!
He beats his brow, with rage and horror fraught;
His brow half bursts with agony of thought!"
That he should be deprived of all he possessed in such a society as
surround him, is not to be wondered at. One of the most conspicuous
characters appears, by the pistols in his pocket, to be a highwayman:
from the profound stupor of his countenance, we are certain he also
is a losing gamester; and so absorbed in reflection, that neither the
boy who brings him a glass of water, nor the watchman's cry of Fire!
can arouse him from his reverie. Another of the party is marked for
one of those well-dressed Continental adventurers, who, being unable
to live in their own country, annually pour into this, and with no
other requisites than a quick eye, an adroit hand, and an undaunted
forehead, are admitted into what is absurdly enough called good
company.
At the table a person in mourning grasps his hat, and hides his face
in the agony of repentance,[87] not having, as we infer from his
weepers, received that legacy of which he is now plundered more than
a little month. On the opposite side is another on whom fortune has
severely frowned, biting his nails in the anguish of his soul. The
fifth completes the climax; he is frantic, and with a drawn sword
endeavours to destroy a _pauvre miserable_ whom he supposes to have
cheated him, but is prevented by the interposition of one of those
staggering votaries of Bacchus who are to be found in every company
where there is good wine; and gaming, like the rod of Moses, so
far swallows up every other passion, that the actors, engrossed by
greater objects, willingly leave their wine to the audience.
In the background are two collusive associates eagerly dividing the
profits of the evening.
A nobleman in the corner is giving his note to an usurer.[88] The
lean and hungry appearance of this cent. per cent. worshipper of the
golden calf is well contrasted by the sleek contented vacancy of
so well-employed a legislator of this great empire. Seated at the
table, a portly gentleman,[89] of whom we see very little, is coolly
sweeping off his winnings.
So engrossed is every one present by his own situation, that the
flames which surround them are disregarded,[90] and the vehement
cries of a watchman entering the room are necessary to rouse their
attention to what is generally deemed the first law of nature,
self-preservation.[91]
The grouping of the figures in this print is masterly; but the light,
being reflected from various sources, overbalances the shadow, and
fatigues the eye. The perspective, though formal, is natural.