Far other dreams my sensual soul employ,
While conscious nature tastes unholy joy:
I view the traces of experienc'd charms,
And clasp the regimentals in my arms.
To dream last night I clos'd my blubber'd eyes;
Ye soft illusions, dear deceits arise;
Alas! no more; methinks I wand'ring go
To distant quarters 'midst the Highland snow:
To the dark inn where never wax-light burns,
Where in smoak'd tap'stry faded DIDO mourns;
To some assembly in a country town,
And meet the colonel — in a parson's gown —
I start — I shriek —