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Since I must bid the world adieu,
Let me my former life review.
I grant my bargains well were made,
But all men over-reach in trade;
"Tis felf-dence in each profeffion :
Sure self-defence is no tranfgreffion.
The little portion in my hands,
By good security on lands
Is well increas.d. If, unawares,

My justice to myfelf and heirs
Hath let my debtor rot in jail,
For want of good fufficient bail ;
If I, by writ, or bond, or deed,
Reduc'd a family to need;
My will hath made the world amends;
My hope on charity depends.
When I am number'd with the dead,
And all my pious gifts are read,
By heaven and earth 'twill then be known 23
My charities were amply shown."
An Angel came.

“ Ah! Friend! he cry'd. No more in Aattering hope confide. Can thy good deeds in former times Outweigh the balance of thy crimes ? What widow or what orphan prays To crown thy life with length of days? A pious action 's in thy power, Embrace with joy the happy hour. Now, while you draw the vital air,

35 Prove your intention is fincere :


This instant give a hundred pound;
Your neighbours want, and you abound.”

« But why such hafte, the fick Man whines;.
Who knows as yet what Heaven designs ?
Perhaps I may recover still.
That sum and more are in


will." " Fool, says the Vifion, now 'tis plain Your life, your foul, your Heaven, was gain. From every fide, with all your might, 45 You scrap'd, and scrap'd beyond your right; And after death would fain atone, By giving what is not your own.

“ While there is life, there's hope, he cry'd; Then why such hafte?" fo groan'd, and dy'd. 50



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Is there a bard whom genius fires,

Whose every thought the God inspires ?
When envy reads the nervous lines,
She frets, she rails, she raves, she pines ;
Her hissing snakes with venom swell ;
She calls her venal train from hell :
The servile fiends her nod obey,
And all Curll's authors are in pay.
Fame calls up Calumny and Spite :
Thus shadow owes its birth to light.


As, proftrate to the God of Day,
With heart devout, a Persian lay,
His invocation thus begun:

“ Parent of Light ! all-seeing Sun !
Prolific beam, whose rays dispense
The various gifts of Providence,
Accept our praise, our daily prayer;
Smile on our fields, and bless the year.”

A Cloud, who mock'd his grateful tongue,
The day with sudden darkness hung ;
With pride and envy swell'd, aloud
A voice thus thunder'd from the Cloud.

“ Weak is this gaudy god of thine, Whom I at will forbid to shine. Shall I nor vows nor incense know?

2; Where praise is due, the praise bestow."

With fervent zeal the Persian mov’d, Thus the proud Calumny reprov'd. “ It was that God who claims my prayer Who gave

thee birth, and rais’d thee there; 30 When o'er his beams the veil is thrown, Thy substance is but plainer shown: A passing gale, a puff of wind, Dispels thy thickest troops combin'd.” The gale arose; the vapour tost

35 (The sport of winds) in air was loft; The glorious orb the day refines. Thus envy breaks, thus merit shines.







A Fox, in life's extreme decay:

Weak, fick, and faint, expiring lay:
All appetite had left his maw,
And age difarm'd his mumbling jaw.
His numerous race around him stand,
To learn their dying fire's command:
He rais'd his head with whining moan,
And thus was heard the feeble tone.
" Ah! Sons! from evil

ways depart;
My crimes lie heavy on my heart.
See, see, the murder'd Geese appear!
Why are those bleeding Turkeys there
Why all around this cackling train,
Who haunt my ears for chicken slain?"

The hungry Foxes round them star'd,
And for the promis'd feast prepar'd.

“ Where, Sir, is all this dainty cheer? Nor Turkey, Goose, nor Hen, is here. These are the phantoms of your brain; And

your fons lick their lips in vain." “ O Gluttons ! says the drooping Sire, Restrain inordinate desire. Your liquorifh taste you shall deplore, When peace of conscience is no more. Vol. XXXVII. G




Does not the hound betray our pace,

25 And gins and guns destroy our race? Thieves dread the searching eye of power ; And never feel the quiet hour. Old age (which few of us shall know) Now puts a period to my woe.

30 Would you true happiness attain, Let honesty your passfons rein ; So live in credit and esteem, And the good name you loft redeem.”

". The counsel's good, a Fox replies, 35 Could we perform what you advise. Think what our ancestors have done; A line of thieves from son to fon. To us descends the long disgrace, And infamy hath mark'd our race.

40 Though we, like harmless sheep, should feed, Honeft in thought, in word, and deed, Whatever hen-rooft is decreas'd, We shall be thought to fhare the feast. The change shall never be believ'd.

45 A lost good name is ne'er retriev'd.”

“ Nay, then, replies the feeble Fox, (But, hark! I hear a hen that clucks) Go; but be moderate in your food ; A chicken, too, might do me good.”



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