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Wrote on a Tomb-stone, where is laid the skull of a man.

W H Y start? The case is yours, or will be foon,

VV 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 yain.
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 murs'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, i n
Yet know I feasted, but to feast a worm.
Already sure less terrible I feem,' , ut
And you like me can own that life's a dream...
Whether that dream may boast the longest date,
Farewell, remember, left you wake too late.

Wrote on another Tomb-stone, where is laid the skull of a woman

PLUSH not, ye fair, to own me; but be wife,

D Nor turn from fad mortality your eyes...",
Fame fays, and Fame alone can tell how true,
I once was lovely, and belov'd like you...
Where are my vot'ries where my flatt'rers now?
Gone with the fubject of each lover's vow,

w
Adieu the roles red, and lilies white, -!mui
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, y
At once what thousands can't, or dare not fee

Unvarnin'd

Unvarnish'd I the real truth iinpart,
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 malk--here shuts the final scene,
Nor differs grave threescore, from gay fifteen.
All press alike to that same goal, the tomb,
Were wrinkled Laura smiles at Chloe's bloom.
When coxcombs flatter, 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.

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pleen;
nou fool, and see
schine.
man, prop'd by these,
ifts aloud;
led ftilts, sublime,
the murm'ring crowd,
elds of blood the general stalks,
same sits on his hilt;
.word, or gun, at length bestow's
an hon uralle stilt.
. hen quite deserted by the Muse,

The sinking sonneteer
Hammers in vain a thoughtless verse, .

To please Belinda's ear:
The mighty void of wit he stops

With a successrul chime;
On ftilts poetic rises quick,

And leans upon his chime.
With well dilembled anguilh, see!

The canting raícal beg,,
And by a counterfeit gain more

Than by a real leg.
Yet on the boy's instructive sport,

Is this contrivance built:
The source from whence his gains arise,

What is it, but a stilt?
Corinaa fair, of ftature low,

Yet, this defect supplies,
By heels, like ftilts, which may affiti,

The conquest of her eyes.
See! in his second childhood faint,

The old man walks with pain; .
On crutches imiiates his stilts,

And acts the boy again.

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Secluded far from human fight, .

Attend my fleecy care,
But till my eyes are seal'd in night,
Thou shalt partake my pray'r.

III.
My cottage ón a rising ground,

Near to a friendly fhade,
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, i
Both time and chance will shew.

IV.
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.

SONG, written by a Lady.

1. W H EN the nymphs were contending for beauty and fame,

Fair Sylvia food foremost in right of her claim,
When to grown the high transports dear conquest excites,
At court she was envy'd and toasted at White's.

. . II.
But how shall I whisper this fair one's fad case ?
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.

III.
Yet take heed, all ye fair, how you triumph in vain,
For Sylvia, tho' alter'd from pretty to plain, i
Is now more engaging since reason took place,
Than when the posless'd the perfections of face.

IV.
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 toast, the's well form'd for a wife.

A Copy

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