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Grew loud and mutinous, nor would be gone; But know that thou must render up the dead,
And with high int'rest too !—They are not thine,
Till the great promis'd day of restitution ;
When loud diffusive sound from brazen trump
And rouse the long, long sleepers into life,
What havoc bast thou made, foul monster, Sin! Then must thy gates fly open, and reveal
In their dark cells immur'd; but now full ripe,
That twice has stood the torture of the fire
The Son of God, thee foil'd.-Him in thy power
(Sure pledge of our releasement from thy thrall!) Buries whole tracks of country, threat'ning more;
Twice twenty days he sojourn d here on earth, But that too has its shore it cannot pass.
And show'd himself alive to chosen witnesses, More dreadful far than these, sin has laid waste, By proofs so strong, that the most slow-assenting Not here and there a country, but a world :
Had not a scruple left. This having done, Dispatching at a wide-extended blow
He mounted up to Heav'n. Methinks I see him Entire mankind; and for their sales defacing Climb the aerial heights, and glide along A whole creation's beauty with rude hands; Athwart the severing clouds: but the faint eye, Blasting the foodful grain, the loaded branches, Flung backward in the chase, soon drops its hold; And marking all along its way withı ruin.
Disabled quite, and jaded with pursuing. Accurred thing !-Oh! where shall fancy find Heaven's portals wide expand to let him in; A proper naine to call thee by, expressive
Nor are his friends shut out: as some great prince Of all thy horrors ?—Pregnant womb of ills!
Not for himself alone procures admission, of temper so transcendently malign,
But for his train; it was his royal will, That toads and serpents of most deadly kind,
That where he is, there should his followers be. Compar'd to thee, are harmless.-Sicknesses Death only lies between !- A gloomy path! Of every size and symptom, racking pains,
Made yet more gloomy by our coward fear: And bluest plagues, are thine !— See how the fiend But nor untrod, nor tedious: the fatigue Profusely scatters the contagion round! (heels, Will soon go off.—Besides, there's no bye-road Whilst deep-mouth'd slaughter, bellowing at her
To bliss.—Then why. like ill-conditiou'd children, Wades deep in blood new-spilt! yet for to-morrow
Start we at transient hardships in the way Shapes out new work of great uncommon daring,
That leads to purer air, and softer skies,
And a ne'er-setting suu :--Fools that we are !
We wish to be where sweets unwith'ring bloom; My father's nakedness, and nature's shame.
But straight our wish revoke, and will not go. Here let me pause, and drop an honest tear,
So have I seen, upon a summer's even, One burst of filial duty and condolence,
Fast by the riv'let's brink, a youngster play: O'er all those ample deserts Death hath spread, How wishfully he looks to stem the tide! This chaos of mankind.–O great man-eater !
This moment resolute, next unresolv'd: Whose ev'ry day is carnival, not sated yet!
At last he dips his foot; but as he dips Unheard-of epicure! without a fellow !
His fears redouble, and he runs away The veriest gluttons do not always cram;
From th' inoffensive stream, unmindful now Some intervals of abstinence are sought
Of all the flow'rs that paint the further bank, To edge the appetite: thou seekest none.
And smil'd so sweet of late.--Thrice welcome Death! Methinks the countless swarms thou hast devour'd,
That after many a painful bleeding step And thousands that each hour thou gobblest up,
Conducts us to our home, and lands us safe This, less than this, might gorge thee to the full.
On the long-wish'd-for shore.Prodigious change! But ah! rapacious still, thou gap'st for more:
Our bane turn'd to a blessing !--Death, disarm’d, Like one, whole days defrauded of his meals,
Loses his fellness quite: all thanks to him On whom lank hunger lays his skinny hand,
Who scourg'd the venom out! Sure the last end And whets to keenest eagerness his cravings. Of the good inan is peace !-How calm his exit! (As if diseases, massacre and poison,
Night-dews fall not more gently to the ground, Famine, and war, were not thy caterers !)
Nor weary worn-out winds expire so soft.
Behold him in the evening-tide of life,
And each shall have his own.-Hence, ye profane! A life well-spent, whose early care it was
Ask not how this can be ?-Sure the same pow'r His riper years should not upbraid his green: That rear'd the piece at first, and took it down, By unperceiv'd degrees he wears away;
Can re-assemble the loose scatter'd parts, Yet like the sun, seems larger at his setting ! And put them as they were.— Almighty God (High in his faith and hopes), look how he reaches Has done much more ; nor is his arm impair'd After the prize in view! and, like a bird
Through length of days: and what he can, he will That's hamper’d, struggles hard to get away! His faithfulness stands bound to see it done. Whilst the glad gates of sight are wide expanded When the dread trumpet sounds, the slumb'ring dost, To let new glories in, the first fair fruits
Not unattentive to the call, shall wake : Of the fast-coming larvest.-Then, oh then! And ev'ry joint possess its proper place, Each earth-born joy grows vile, or disappears, With a new elegance of form, unknown Shrunk to a thing of nought.-Oh! how he longe To its first state.-Nor shall the conscious soul To have his passport sign’d, and be dismiss'd! Mistake its partner, but amidst the crowd 'Tis done! and now he's happy!—The glad soul Singling its other half, into its arms Has not a wish uncrown'd.-Ev'n the lag flesh Shall rush with all th’impatience of a man (sent, Rests too in hope of meeting once again
That's new come home, who having long been abIts better half, never to sunder more.
With haste runs over ev'ry different room, Nor shall it, hope in vain :--the time draws on In pain to see the whole. Thrice happy meeting! When not a single spot of burial earth,
Nor time, nor death, shall ever part them more. Whether on land, or in the spacious sea,
'Tis but a night, a long and moonless night; But must give back its long-committed dust We make the grave our bed, and then are gone. Inviolate: and faithfully shall these
Thus, at the shut of even, the weary bird Make up the full account; not the least atom Leaves the wide air, and in some lonely brake Embezzled, or mislaid, of the whole tale.
Cowess down, and dozes till the dawn of day; Each soul shall have a body ready-furnish’d; Then claps his well-fledg'd wings, and bears away.
WRITTEN IN A LADY'S IVORY
Peruse my leaves through every part, And think thou seest my owner's heart, Scrawld o'er with trifles thus, and quite As hard, as senseless, and as light; Expos'd to every coxcomb's eyes, But hid with caution from the wise. Here you may read, “ Dear charming saint!" Beneath, “ A new receipt for paint;" Here, in beau-spelling, “ Tru tel deth;" There, in her own, " For an el breth ;" Here, “ Lovely nymph, pronounce my doom!" There, “ A safe way to use perfume :" Here, a page fill'd with billet-doux; On t'other side, “ Laid out for shoes"· Madam, I die without your grace"" Item, for half a yard of lace.” Who that had wit would place it here, For every peeping fop to jeer; In power of spittle and a clout, Whene'er he please, to blot it out ; And then, to heighten the disgrace, Clap his own nonser.se in the place? Whoe'er expects to hold his part In such a book, and such a heart, If he be wealthy, and a fool, Is in all points the fittest tool ; Of whom it may be justly said, He's a gold pencil tipp'd with lead.
I keep in my pocket, ty'd about my middle, next to
my smock. So when I went to put up my purse, as God would
have it, my smock was unript, And, instead of putting it into my pocket, down it
slipt; Then the bell rung, and I went down to put my
Lady to bed ; And, God knows, I thought my money was as safe as
my maidenhead. So, when I came up again, I found my pocket feel
very light: But when I search'd, and miss'd my purse, Lord! I
thought I should have sunk outright. Lord! Madain, says Mary, how d'ye do? Indeed,
says I, never worse: But pray, Mary, can you tell what I have done with
my purse? Lord help me! said Mary, I never stirr'd out of
this place; Nay, said I, I had it in Lady Betty's chamber, that's
a plain case. So Mary got me to bed, and cover'd me up warm : However, she stole away my garters, that I might
do myself no harm, So I tumbled and toss'd all night, as you may very
well think, But hardly ever set my eyes together, or slept a wink, So I was adream'd, methought that we went and
search'd the folks round, And in a corner of Mrs. Duke's box, ty’d in a rag,
the money was found. So next morning we told Whittle, and he fell a
swearing; Then my dame Wadgar came ; and she, you know,
is thick of hearing. Dame, said I, as loud as I could bawl, do you know
what a loss I have had ? Nay, said she, my Lord Conway's folks are all
MRS. HARRIS'S PETITION, 1699, To their Excellencies the Lords Justices of Ireland,
the humble petition of Frances Harris, Who must starve, and die a maid, if it miscarries;
Humbly sheweth, That I went to warm myself in Lady Betty's cham
ber, because I was cold; And I had in a purse seven pounds, four shillings,
and sixpence, besides farthings, in money and
goid; So, because I had been buying things for my Lady
last night, I was resolv'd to telt my money, to see if it was right. Now, you must know, because my trunk has a very
bad lock, Therefore all the money I have, which, God knows,
is a very small stock,
For my Lord Dromedary comes a Tuesday without
fail. Pugh! said I, but that's not the business that I ail, Says Cary, says he, I have been a servant this five
and twenty years come spring, And in all the places I liv'd I never heard of such
a thing Yes, says the steward, I remember, when I was at
my Lady Shrewsbury's, Such a thing as this happen'd just about the time
So I went to the party suspected, and I found her For that, he said, (an't please your Excellencies) | full of grief,
must petition you. (Now, you must know, of all things in the world, I The premises tenderly consider'd, I desire yon hate a thief.) [about: E.rcellencies' protection,
[lection; However, I am resolv'd to bring the discourse slily And that I may have a share in next Sunday's coMrs. Dukes, said I, here's an ugly accident has And, over and above, that I may liave your Excel. happen'd out:
lencies' letter, 'Tis not that I value the money three skips of a louse; With an order for the chaplain aforesaid, or, instead But the thing I stand upon is the credit of the house. of him, a better; 'Tis true, seven pounds, four shillings, and sixpence, And then your poor petitioner, both night and day, makes a great hole in my wages:
Or the chaplain (for 'tis his trade), as in duty bound, Besides, as they say, service is no inheritance in
shall ever pray.
TO THE EARL OF PETERBOROW,
WHO COMMANDED THE BRITISH FORCES IN SPAIS,
Mordanto fills the trump of fame,
In journies he outrides the post,
Knows every prince in Europe's face,
Now, Mrs. Dukes, you know, and every body un
derstands, That though 'tis hard to judge, yet money can't go
without hands. The devil take me! said she (blessing herself) if
ever I saw't! So she roar'd like a bedlam, as though I had callid
her all to nanght. So you know, what could I say to her any more? le'en left her, and came away as wise as I was before. Well; but then they would had me gone to the
cunning man! No, said I, 'tis the same thing, the chaplain will be
here anon. So the chaplain came in. Now the servants say he
is my sweetheart, Because he's always in my chamber, and I always
take his part. So as the devil would have it, before I was aware,
out I blunder'd, Parson, said I, can you cast a nativity, when a
body's plunderd! (Now, you must know, he hates to be call'd parson
like the devil!) Truly, says he, Mrs. Nab, it might become you to
be more civil; If your money be gone, as a learned divine says, d'ye see,
[me; You are no text for my handling; so take that from I was never taken for a conjurer before, I'd have
From Paris gazette à-la-main,
A messenger comes all a-reek,
Next day the post-boy winds his horn,
Mordanto gallops on alone;
you to know.
His body active as his mind,
A skeleton in outward figure,
Lord! said I, don't be angry, I am sure I never
thought you so; You know I honour the cloth; I design to be a
parson's wife; I never took one in your coat for a conjurer in all
my life; With that he twisted his girdle at me like a rope, as who should say,
[away. Now you may go bang yourself for me, and so went Well: I thought I would have swoon'd. Lord !
said I, what shall I do! I have lost my money, and shall lose my true love too! Then my Lord callid me: Harry, said my Lord,
So wonderful bis expedition,
Shines in all climates like a star;
I'll give you something towards thy loss; and, says
my Lady, so will I. Oh! but, said I, what if, after all, the chaplain
won't come to?
Heroic actions early bred in,
But, to their own or landlord's cost,
Premising thus, in modern way,
Van (for 'tis fit the reader know it)
Jove smil'd, and, like a gentle god,
And (like a wag set down to write)
and now in order stand.
Now poets from all quarters ran
Thrice happy poet! who mayèt trail
wit in Britain's isle