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O wretched State! in ling'ring Pain I lie,
Robbid of Life's Ufe, yet not allow'd to die.
Th' Unhappy wish for Death, but with in rain,
Death flies their Courtship with a cold Disdain,
While to the youthful and the happy Breait,
The bold Intruder's an unwelcome Guest.
Transform'd from what I was, how am I grova
A frightful Spectre, to my self unknown?
My Face to livid Shades its Air refigns,
And deep-plow'd Furrows hide the graceful Lixes.
The Nerves unbrac'd, the ffefiry Cloathing gone,
A shriveld Skin begirds the naked Bone.
My Eyes recoiling from the ghafly Sight,
Shrink back into their Sockets with the Fright,
And with a filmy Veit exclude the Light,
Distilling Rheums, the only liquid Store,
Mourn their dead Luftre in a scalding Shorts
Tho bright the Sun, thoʻall serene the Sky,
O'ercast they feem, and clouded to my Eye.
The Day so dubious shines with gloomy Light;
I scarce perceive when 'tis reliev'd by Night.
No tuneful Accents from my feeble Voice,
'Tis now become a hollow murm'ring Noise;
The list’ning Ear on ev'ry word intent,
Catches the Sound, and guesses what is meant.
Sour'd with the Thoughts of Pleasure past, I praise
The good old Times, and blame the prefent Days,

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Doating with A Ge my ever-babling Tongue,
Boafts how I liv'd, what Feats I did when Young
Then strait, forgetting what I told before,
Again I tell the tedious Story o'er.
In vàin does AG E its miglity Wisdom boaft,
'Tis a dear Bargain, and not worth the Coft,
Purchasd fo late, 'tis fcarce enjoy'd, but lost.
Tho' of large Tracts of Land I am poffeft,
And Bags of Gold lie crowded in my Chest,
Amidst this Heap of Riches I am poor,
Since 'tis to me become a nfèlefs Store.
Like wretched Fantalus within the Flood,
I stand, but cannot tafte the Golden Food.
No more erect, no more the Heav'ns I fee,
That Attribute of Man is lost to me.
With down-cáft Looks I view my Place of Birth,
And bow my bended Trunk to Mother-Earth.
The mould'ring Clay inclines t“ its first Abode,
While a stiff Plant supports the tott’ring Load;
That often knocks and importunes the Ground,
To let the weary Traveller lie down..

Open thy Bosome, EARTH, and in the Womb.
Of Nature let me find a second Tomb.
To thy cold Breaft, my colder Limbs receive,
They're now that very clod, thout

. once didst gike.


Where-e'er I go, whene'er I walk the Streets,
(With Wonder pointed at by all I meet)
Some pity the old Man, whilft others cry,
There goes the Picture of Mortality.
So tender am I grown, I cannot bear
The gentle Dew, or softest Southern-Air;
Hence are my Lungs with trickling Rheumes opprest;
And Ptyfick-Coughs ne'er cease to tear my Breast;
Of Ease they rob the Day, the Night of Reft.
Stretch'd on the Rack,,a tortux'd Wretch, I wait
With Joy the last indulgent Blow of Fate.
Happy the Man; whose Life without Allay,
In a smooth Stream of Pleasure glides away,
And with his Pleasure ends the latest Day.
Mine seems to wait on ev'ry Gasp of Breath,
Tis better once to die; Then welcome Death.





Friend in Affliétion.

PONE lives in this tumultuous State of things,
Where, ev'ry Morning, some new. Trouble

brings ;

But bold Inquietudes will break his Rest;
And gloomy Thoughts disturb his anxious Breast,
Angelick, Forms, and happy Spirits are
Above the Malice of. perplexing Care: .
But that's a Blessing too sublime, too high
For those who bend beneath Mortality.
If in the Body there was but one Part,
Subject to Pain, and sensible of Smart;


And but one Passion could torment the Mind,
That Part, that. Passion busy Fate would find.
But fince Infirmities in both abound,
Since Sorrow both fo many ways can wounde
'Tis not fo great a Wonder that we grieve,
Sometimes, as 'tis a Miracle we live.

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The happiest Man that ever breath'd on Earth,
With all the Glories of Estate and Birth,
Had yet fope anxious Care to make him knov.
No Grandeur was above the reach of Woe..
To be, from all things that disquiet, free,
Is not consistent with Humanity.
Youth, Vit, and Beauty, are such charming Things,
O'er which, if Affluence spreads her downy Wings,
We think the Person, who enjoys so much,
No Care can move, and no Affliction touch.
Yet could we but some fecret Method find
To view the dark Recesses of the Mind,
We there might see the hidden Seeds of Strife,
And Voes in Embrio rip'ning into Life;
How some fierce Luft, or boifrons Faflion, fils-
The lab'ring Spirit with prolifiek His
Pride, Envy, or Revenge, diftract his soul,
And all Right-Reason's God-like Pow'is controul,
But if she must not be allow'd to sway,
Tho' all without appears serene and gay,

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