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And gayety supplies the place of sense
Then foremost at the banquet and the ball,
Death leads the dance, or stamps the deadly die;
Nor ever fails the midnight bowl to crown.
Gayly carousing to his gay compeers,

Inly he laughs, to see them laugh at him,
As absent far; and when the revel burns,
When fear has banish'd, and triumphant thought,
Calling for all the joys beneath the moon,
Against him turns the key; and bids him sup
With their progenitors-He drops his mask.

DEATH. Ruling Passion strong in.
A salmon's belly, Helluo, was thy fate;
The doctor call'd, declares all help too late:
"Mercy?" cries Helluo, "mercy on my soul
Is there no hope?-Alas then bring the jowl."
The frugal crone, whom praying priests attend,
Still srives to save the hallow'd taper's end,
Collects her breath as ebbing life retires,
For one puff more, and in that puff expires.
"Odious! in woollen! 'twould a saint provoke,
(Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke ;)
No, let a charming chintz and Brussels' lace
Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face,
One would not, sure, be frightful when one's dead-
And-Betty-give this cheek a little red."

The courtier smooth, who forty years had shin'd
An humble servant to all human kind,

Young.

Just bro't out this, when scarce his tongue could stir,
"If-where I'm going-I could serve you, Sir ?"
'I give and I devise" (old Euclio said,

And sigh'd)
"" my lands and tenements to Ned."
Your money, sir?" My money, Sir, what all?
Why-if I must-(then wept) I give it Paul."

The manor, Sir ?-"The manor! hold," he cried,
"Not that, I cannot part with that"—and died.
And you, brave Cobham, to the latest breath,
Shall feel your ruling passion strong in death;
Such in those moments, as in all the past,

"Oh save my country, Heaven!" shall be your last. Pope. DEATH. The Caprice and universal Power of.

Like other tyrants, Death delights to smite What smitten most proclaims the pride of power, And arbitrary nod. His joy supreme,

To bid the wretch survive the fortunate;

The feeble wrap th' athletic in his shroud;

And weeping fathers build their children's tombs. Young. DEATH. The Terrors of.

Ay, but to die, and go we know not where;

To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot;
This sensible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit
To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside
In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice;
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,
And blown with restless violence about
The pendant world; or to be worse than worst
Of those, that lawless and uncertain thoughts
Imagine howling!-'tis too horrible!

The weariest and most loathed worldly life,
That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment
Can lay on nature, is a paradise

To what we fear of death.

DELAY.

Shakspeare.

The Folly of.

Let's take the instant by the forward top;

For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees

The inaudible and noiseless foot of time

Steals ere we can effect them.

Shakspeare.

DELICACY. False.

Ye well array'd! ye lilies of our land!
Ye lilies male! who neither toil nor spin;
Ye delicate! who nothing can support,
Yourselves most insupportable! for whom
The winter rose must blow, and silky soft
Favonious breathe still softer, or be chid;
And other worlds send odours, sauce, and song,
And robes, and notions, fram'd in foreign looms!
O ye who deem one moment unamus'd,
A misery, say, dreamers of gay dreams!
How will you weather an eternal night.

DESPONDENCY.

Oppress'd with grief, oppress'd with care,
A burden more than 1 can bear

I sit me down and sigh
O life! thou art a galling load,

A long, a rough, a weary road,
To wretches such as I!

Dim backward as I cast my view,

What sick'ning scenes appear!

What sorrows yet may pierce me through,

Too justly I may fear.

Happy, ye sons of busy life,

Who, equal to the bustling strife,

No other view regard!

Ev'n when the wished end's denied,
Yet while the busy means are plied.
They bring their own reward!
Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight,
Unfitted with an aim,

Meet ev'ry sad returning night,

And joyless morn the same;

Young.

You bustling, and justling,
Forget each grief and pain;
I listless, yet restless,
Find ev'ry prospect vain.

DIGNITY. Preserved by Distance.
Had I so lavish of my presence been,
So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men,
So stale and cheap to vulgar company;
Opinion, that did help me to the crown,
Had still kept loyal to possession,
And left me in reputeless banishment,
A fellow of no mark, nor likelihood.
By being seldom seen, I could not stir,
But, like a comet, I was wonder'd at:

Burns.

That men would tell their children, This is he;
Others would say,-Where? which is Bolingbroke?
And then I stole all courtesy from heaven,

And dress'd myself in such humility

That I did pluck allegiance from men s hearts,
Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths,
Even in the presence of the crowned king.
Thus did I keep my person fresh and new;
My presence, like a robe pontifical.
Ne'er seen, but wonder'd at: and so my state,
Seldom, but sumptuous, show'd like a feast;
And won by rareness, such solemnity.

DINNERS. State, Tiresome.

ut Hark! the chiming clocks to dinner call;
A hundred footsteps scrape the marble hall;
A rich buffet well-colour'd serpents grace,
And gaping Tritons spew to wash your face;
Is this a dinner? this a genial room?
No, 'tis a temple, and a hecatomb

Shakspeare.

A solemn sacrifice, perform'd in state;

You drink by measure, and to minutes eat.

So quick retires each flying course, you'd swear
Sancho's dread doctor and his wand were there.
Between each act the trembling salvers ring,
From soup to sweet wine, and God bless the king.
In plenty starving, tantaliz'd in state,

And complaisantly help'd to all I hate,
Treated, caress'd, and tir'd, I take my leave,
Sick of his civil pride from morn to eve :
I curse such lavish cost, and little skill,
And swear no day was ever pass'd so ill!

DISCONTENT.

Why discontent for ever harbour'd there?
Incurable consumption of our peace!
Resolve me, why, the cottager, and king,
He whom sea-severed realms obey, and he
Who steals his whole dominion from the waste,
Repelling winter's blast, with mud and straw,
Disquieted alike, draw sigh for sigh,
In fate so distant, in complaint so near.
DISLIKE. From Prejudice.

At first

I struck my choice upon her, ere my heart
Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue;
Where the impression of mine eye infixing,
Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me,
Which wrap'd the line of every other favour;
Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stol'n.
Extended or contracted all proportions
To a most hideous object: Thence it came,

Young.

That she, whom all men prais'd, and whom myself,
Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye
The dust that did offend it.

Shakspeare.

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