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Draws off, discovers Alcippus rising from the Couch. Alcip. I cannot sleep, my Soul is so unfurnish'd Of all that Sweetness which allow'd it rest. 'Tis flown, 'tis flown, for ever from my breast, And in its room eternal discords dwell, Such as outdo the black intrigues of Hell Oh my fortune What's here?
There is another Set of Men that I must likewise lay a Claim to, whom I have lately called the Blanks of Society, as being altogether unfurnish'd with Ideas, till the Business and Conversation of the Day has supplied them.
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