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Wrote on a Tomb-stone, where is laid the skull of a man.
THY start? The case is yours, or will be foon,
Some years perhaps--perhaps another moon.
Life in its utmost span is but a breath,
And they who longest dream, muft wake in death.
Like you I once thought ev'ry bliss secure,
And gold of ev'ry ill the certain cure;
Till steep'd in forrows, and besieg d with pain,
Too late I found all earthly riches vain.
Disease with scorn threw back the sordid fee,
And Death still answer’d, What is gold to me?
Fame, titles, honours next I vainly sought,
And fools obsequious nurs’d the childish thought.
Circled with brib'd applause and purchas'd praise,
I built on endless grandeur endless days ;
But death awak'd me from a dream of pride,
And laid a prouder beggar by my side.
Pleasure I courted, and obey'd my taste,
The banquet smil'd, and smild the gay repast.
A loathsome carcase was my constant care,
And worlds were ransack'd but for me to share.
Go on, vain man, in luxury be firm,
Yet know I feasted, but to feast a worm.
Already sure less terrible I feem,
And you like me can own that life's a dream.
Whether that dream may boast the longest date,
Farewell, remember, lett you wake too late.
Wrote on another Tomb-stone, where is laid the skull of a woman
LUSH not, ye fair, to own me; but be wife,
Fame says, and Fame alone
can tell how true,
I once was lovely, and belov'd like you.
Where are my votries--where my flatt'rers now?
Gone with the fubject of each lover's vow.
Adieu the roles red, and lilies white,
Adicu those eyes, which made the darkness light
No more, alas ! that coral lip is feen,
Nor longer breathes the fragrant gale between.
Turn from your mirror, and behold in me,
At once what thousands can't, or dare not fee.am
Unvarnish'd I the real truth impart,
Nor here am plac'd but to direct the heart.
Survey me well-ye fair ones, and believe,
The grave may terrify—but can't deceive.
On beauty's fragile base no more depend,
Here youth and pleasure, age and forrow end;
Here drops the mask-here fhuts the final scene,
Nor differs grave threescore, from gay fifteen.
All press alike to that fame goal, the tomb,
Were wrinkled Laura Smiles at Chloe's bloom.
When coxcombs fatter, and when fools adore,
Learn here the lesson to be vain no more.
Yet virtue still against decay can arm,
And even lend mortality a charm.
Secluded far from human right,
Attend my fleecy care,
But till my eyes are seal'd in night,
Thou shalt partake my pray'r.
My cottage on a rising ground,
Near to a friendly shade,
A ruin shall my prospect bound,
With greens that never fade.
Some murm'ring brooks within my view,
That not too lifeless flow,
Whilft I the paths of truth pursue,
Both time and chance will shew.
But if thou bring 'st thy heart again,
Untainted and sincere,
I'll laugh at all my present pain,
And banish ev'ry fear.
Then like a ship the tempeft toft,
I'll bless the friendly shore,
Forget the dangers that are past,
But venture out no more.
HEN the nymphs were contending for beauty and fame,
When to crown the high transports dear conquest excites,
At court she was envy d and toasted at White's.
But how shall I whisper this fair one's fad cafe?
A cruel disease has fpoil'd her sweet face ;
Her vermillion is chang'd to a dull settled red,
And all the gay graces of beauty are fled.
Yet take heed, all ye fair, how you triumph in vain,
For Sylvia, tho' alter'd from pretty to plain,
Is now more engaging since reason took place,
Than when the possess'd the perfections of face.
Convinc'd she no more can coquet it and teaze,
Instead of tormenting the studies to please ;
Makes truth and discretion the guide of her life,
And tho' spoil'd for a toalt, the's well form d for a wife.
A Copy of Verses, on seeing a loy walk on stilts.
EAVING the grammar for his plays
Forgetful of the rod;
Tott'ring on stilts, through mire and dirt,
The school-boy strolls abroad.
Why does this innocent delight
Provoke the pedant's spleen;
Look round the world, thou fool, and see
The use of this machine.
The tricking statesman, prop'd by these,
His virtues boasts aloud;
And on his gilded stilts, sublime,
Steps o'er the murm'ring crowd,
Through fields of blood the general stalks,
And fame sits on his hilt;
The sword, or gun, at length bestows
An honourable stilt.
When quite deserted by the Mufe,
The sinking sonneteer
Hammers in vain a thoughtless verse,
To please Belinda's ear:
The mighty void of wit he stops
With a successful chime;
On stilts poetic rises quick,
And leans upon his chime.
With well dulembled anguilh, see!
The canting rascal beg,
And by a counterfeit gain more
Than by a real ieg.
Yet on the boy's instructive sport,
Is this contrivance built:
The source from whence his gains arise,
What is it, but a stilt?
Corinna fair, of ftature low,
Yet, this defect supplies,
By heels, like tilts, which may asliti,
The conquest of her eyes.
See! in his second childhood faint,
The old man walks with pain;
On crutches imitates his stilts,
And acts the boy again.
So well concerted is this art,
It suits with all couditions,
Heroes, and ladies, beggars, bards,
And boys, and politicians.
Long through the various course of life
Each artist walks unhurt,
Till death, at last, kicks up his stilts,
And lays him in the dirt.
Nimium ne crede Colori.-VIRG.
A when all things were endu'd with speech;
Nor plant, nor bird, nor fish, nor brúte,
Nor thing inanimate was mute:
Their converse taught-or these men lie-
Better than books, morality.
One grain more faith afford me now,
I ask but one more grain, I vow,
Speech on mere visions to bestow.
Then you'll believe, that truth I tell,
That what I now relate befell.
Calm was the day, the sky was clear,
Save that a light cloud here and there,
Floating amid the azure plain,
Promis d some gentle showr's of rains
Tho' Men are faithless, Clouds are true,
As by the fequel foon I'll thew.
Sol from the zenith now departed,
Eastward his rays obliquely darted,
The clouds, late glories of the day,
By western winds are born away,
Till to the east each. vapour blown,
In lucid Thowr's came gently down.
Now full oppos'd to Phæbus' rays,
Iris her vivid tints displays;
A wat ry mirror spread below.
To her own eyes her beauties shew.
I scarce can think Narcissus ey'd
Reflected beauty with such pride;
Or modern belle for birth night dress’d,
Raptures fo exquisite express d.
Some time enamour d o 'er the lake
She hung, then thus the fpake: