His Fire is out, his Wit decay'd,
His Fancy funk, his Mufe a Jade.
I'd have him throw away his Pen;
But there's no talking to fome Men.'

AND, then their Tenderness appears, By adding largely to my Years:

"He's older than he would be reckon'd, "And well remembers Charles the Second,

"He hardly drinks a Pint of Wine; "And that, I doubt, is no good Sign. "His Stomach too begins to fail:

“Laft Year we thought him strong and hale "But now, he's quite another Thing;

"I wish he may hold out till Spring.

THEN hug themselves, and reafon thus a "It is not yet fo bad with us.",

B 2

<

IN fuch a Cafe they talk in Tropes,
And, by their Fears express their Hopes,
Some great Misfortune to portend,

No Enemy can match a Friend.
With all the Kindness they profess,
The Merit of a lucky Guefs

(When daily Howd'y's come of Course,
And Servants answer; Worfe and Worse)
Wou'd please 'em better than to tell,
That, God be prais'd, the Dean is well
Then he who prophecy'd the best,
Approves his Forefight to the reft:
"You know, I always fear'd the worst
And often told you fo at firft:

He'd rather chufe, that I fhould dye,
Than his Prediction prove a Lye.
Not one foretels I fhall recover;
But, all agree, to give me over.

YET

YET fhou'd fome Neighbour feel a Pain,
Juft in the Parts, where I complain;
How many a Meffage would he fend?
What hearty Prayers that I should mend?
Enquire what Regimen I kept;

What gave me Eafe, and how I flept?
And more lament, when I was dead,

Than all the Sniv'llers round my

Bed.

My good Companions, never fear, For though you may miftake a Year; Though your Prognosticks run too fast, They must be verify'd at last.

"BEHOLD the fatal Day arrive! "How is the Dean? He's just alive. Now the departing Prayer is read: "He hardly breathes. The Dean is dead. "Before the Paffing-Bell begun,

"The News thro' half the Town has run.

66

O, may we all for Death prepare

"What has he left? And who's his Heir? "I know no more than what the News is, "'Tis all bequeath'd to publick Uses. "To publick Ufe! A perfect Whim! "What had the Publick done for him! "Meer Envy, Avarice, and Pride!

"He gave it all:

But firft he dy'd.

"And had the Dean, in all the Nation, "No worthy Friend, no poor Relation? "So ready to do Strangers good,

Now Grub-Street Wits are all employ'd,' With Elegies, the Town is cloy'd:

Some Paragraph in ev'ry Paper,

(1) To curfe the Dean, or bless the Drapier.

THE

(1) The Author fuppofes, that the Scriblers of the prevailing Party, which he always oppofed, will

Libel

THE Doctors tender of their Fame, Wifely on me lay all the Blame :

"We must confefs his Cafe was nice;

"But he would never take Advice: "Had he been rul'd, for ought appears, "He might have liv'd these Twenty Years: "For when we open'd him we found,

That all his vital Parts were found.

FROM Dublin foon to London fpread, (1) 'Tis told at Court, the Dean is dead.

(1) KIND

libel him after his Death; but that others, who remember the Service he had done to Ireland, under the Name of M. B. Drapier, by utterly defeating the destructive Project of Wood's Half-pence, in five Letters to the People of Ireland, at that Time read univerfally, and convincing every Reader, will remember him with Gratitude.

(1) The Dean fuppofeth himself to dye in Ireland.