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While reason and religion, better taught;
And feel I, death! no joy from thought of thee ? Death, the great counsellor, who man inspires With every nobler thought, and fairer deed ! Death, the deliverer, who rescues man ! Death, the rewarder, who the rescued crowns !
515 Death, that absolves my birth; a curse without it! Rich death, that realizes all my cares, Toils, virtues, hopes ; without it a chimera ! Death, of all pain the period, not of joy ; Joy's source, and subject, ftill sublift unhurt;
520 One, in
my soul ; and one, in her great Sire; Though the four winds were warring for my duft.
Yes, and from winds, and waves, and central night,
535 „When shall I die „When thall I live for ever?
NIGHT THE FOURT H.
THE CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH.
Our only Cure for the Fear of Death ; and proper Senti
ments of that inestimable Blessing.
Τ ο THE HONOURABLE MR. YORKE.
Much-indebted Muse, o Yorke! intrudes.
Amid the smiles of fortune, and of youth, Thine ear is patient of a serious song, How deep implanted in the breast of man The dread of death! I sing its sovereign cure. 5
Why start at death? Where is he? Death arriv'd, Is past ; not come or gone, he's never here. Ere bope, sensation fails ; black-boding man Receives, not suffers, death's tremendous blow. The knell, the shroud, the mattock, and the grave ; 10 The deep damp vault, the darkness, and the worm; These are the bugbears of a winter's eve, The terrors of the living, not the dead. Imagination's fool, and error's wretch, Man makes a death, which nature never made ; 15 Then on the point of his own fancy falls; And feels a thousand deaths, in fearing one.
But were death frightful, what has age to fear?
born of women give his thought 25 Full range, on just dislike's unbounded field;. Of things, the vanity; of men, the flaws ; Flaws in the best; the many, flaw all o’er; As leopards, spotted, or, as Ethiops, dark; Vivacious ill ; good dying immature ; (How immature, Narcissa's marble tells !) And at his death bequeathing endless pain ; His heart, though bold, would ficken at the fight, And spend itself in sighs, for furure scenes.
But grant to life (and just it is to grant 35 To lucky life) fome perquisites of joy ; A time there is, when, like a thrice-told tale, Long-rifled life of sweet can yield no more, But from our comment on the comedy, Pleasing reflections on parts well sustain'd, Or purposs’d emendations where we fail'd, Or hopes of plaudits from our candid Judge, When on their exit, souls are bid unrobe, Toss fortune back her tinsel, and her plume, And drop this mask of flesh behind the scene.
With me, that time is come; my world is dead ; A new world rises, and new manners reign :
Foreign comedians, a spruce band ! arrive,
Indulge me, nor conceive I drop my theme :
70 Wishing, of all employments, is the worst; Philofophy's reverse ; and health's decay ! Were I as plump as stall'd theology, Wishing would waste me to this shade again. sWere I as wealthy as a South-sea dream,
- 75 Wishing is an expedient to be poor. ...Wishing, that constant hetic of a fool ;