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By whofe juft Sentence they muft go
To everlasting Pains and endless Woe:
Which always are extream, and always will be fo.
But the Good Man, whofe Soul is pure,
Unfpotted, regular, and free

From all the ugly Stains of Luft and Villany;
Of Mercy, and of Pardon fure,

Looks thro' the Darkness of the gloomy Night,
And fees the Dawning of a glorious Day;
Sees Crowds of Angels, ready to convey
His Soul, whene'er fhe takes her Flight,
To the furprizing Manfions of immortal Light:
Then the celeftial Guards around him stand,
Nor fuffer the black Demons of the Air
T'oppofe his Paffage to the promis'd Land;

Or terrify his Thoughts with wild Defpair
But all is calm within, and all without is fair:
And when his Soul's releas'd from dull Mortality,
She paffes up in Triumph thro' the Sky;
Where fhe's united to a glorious Throng
Of Angels, who, with a celeftial Song,
Congratulate her Conqueft, as the flies along. Rofc.
Ev'n here thy Courage taught thee to out-brave
All the flight Sorrows of the Grave:
Pale Death's Arreft

Ne'er fhock'd thy Breaft ;

Nor cou'd it in the dreadful'ft Figure dreft:
That ugly Skeleton may guilty Spirits daunt,

:

Whom the dire Ghofts of Crimes departed haunt:

}

Arm'd with bold Innocence thou could't that Mormo`dare,

And on the bare-fac'd King of Terrours ftare,

As free from all th' Effects, as from the Caufe, of Fear.
Thy Soul fo willing from thy Body went,

As if both parted by Confent :

No Murmur, no Complaining, no Delay,
Only a Sigh, a Groan, and fo away:

Death feem'd to glide with Pleafure in,
As if in this Senfe too fhe 'ad loft her Sting:

Like fome well acted Comedy, Life swiftly pass'd,
And ended juft fo ftill and fweet at laft:

(beneath,

Thou, like its Actors feem'd'it in borrow'd Habit here And could'st, as easily

As they do that, put of Mortality:

Thou did'ft breathe out thy Soul as free as common Breath, As unconcern'd as they are in a feigned Death. Old. She fell, choak'd with a thousand Sighs;

And now the pleas'd expiring Saint,

Her

Her dying Looks, where new-born Beauty fhines,
Opprefs'd with Blushes, modeftly declines;
While Death approach'd with a Majestick Grace,
Pleas'd to look lovely once in fuch a Face:
Her Arms, fpread to receive her welcome Gueft,
With a glad Sigh fhe drew into her Breaft:
Her Eyes then languifhing tow'rds Heav'n fhe caft,
To thank the Pow'rs that Death was come at last.
And, at th' Approach of the cold filent God,

Ten thousand hidden Glories rufh'd abroad. Roch. Valent,
His drooping Lids, that feem'd for ever clos'd,
Were faintly rear'd, to tell me that he liv'd:
The Balls of Sight, dim and depriv'd of Motion,
Sparkled no more with that Majestick Fire,
At which ev❜n Kings have trembled; but had loft
Their common useful Office, and were shaded
With an eternal Night. Rowe. Amb. Stepm.
He with a cold

And shakingHand, juft in the Pangs of Death,
Groan'd out a parting Sigh,

Fain wou'd have fpoke, but faulter'd in his Speech
With undiftinguifh'd Sounds. Dryd. D. Seb.

Groaning he lay, and fetch'd long double Sighs;(P. Arth, Whilft with thick Mifts Death fwims upon his Eyes. Blac. His Eyeballs roul in Death

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Behold the ling ring Souls convulfive Strife, (of Gran. p. 1. His thick fhort Breath catches at parting Life. Dryd. Conq.

He then

Fail'd in his Speech, and rattled in his Throat;
Death o'er his Eyes did a thick Gloom difplay;
Enthron'd the Night, and difpoffefs'd the Day. Blac. Eliza.
Cold Death congeal'd his Blood within his Veins,
And clos'd his Eyes with everlafting Chains. Blac. P. Arth.
The Agonies of Death are on her,
She pulls, the gripes me hard with her cold Hand:

In that Sigh fled her Soul,

And left her Load of Mifery behind. Rowe. J. Shore.

Ha! She is going: fee, her languishing Eyes

(Theod.

Draw in their Beams, the Sleep of Death is on her. Lee. Then iron fleep, in Darkness and in Death,

Clos'd his benighted Eyes.- Broome. Hom.

She faints: pale Death feals up her fparkling Eyes,

While from her Cheeks the crimson Luftre flies. Laud. Virg.
I feel Death rifing higher ftill, and higher
Within my Bofom: Ev'ry Breath I fetch,
Shuts up my Life within a fhorter Compass;

And, like the vanishing Sound of Bells, grows lefs
And lefs each Pulfe, 'till it be loft in Air. Dryd. Riv. Lad.
My Life is gone: that bufy Thing,

The Soul is packing up, and just on Wing,

Like parting Swallows, when they seek the Spring:
Like them, at its appointed Time it goes,

And flies to Countries, more unknown than those. Dryd.

(Conq. of Gran. p. 2.

My Soul is on the Beach, and ftrait muft launch

Into th' Abyss of the black Sea of Death:

But oh! he's come: cold Tyrant, I obey,

And hug thy Dart, that bears my Life away. Lee. Mithr. The Malady, that's lodg'd within, grows ftronger;

I feel the Shock of my approaching Fate;

My Heart too trembles at his distant March,

Nor can I utter more

The Hand of Death

Lee Theod.

Comes, like eternal Night, with her dark Wing,
To bar the comfortable Light for ever

From these my aged Eyes.

The Lamp of Life burns dimly in

Lee. Mithr.

my Breaft;

(Job.

(Tamerl. Rowe.

Soon from its beating Toil my weary Heart will reft. Blac.
Already I am onward of my Way:
Thy tuneful Voice comes like a hollow Sound
At Distance to my Ears: My Eyes grow heavy;
And all the glorious Lights of Heav'n look dim.
While thou art fpeaking, Life begins to fail;
And ev'ry tender Accent chills like Death.
The Day declines
And the long Night prevails.

Rowe. Tamerl.
My Heart beats higher, and my nimble Spirits
Ride fwiftly thro' their purple Channels round:
'Tis the laft Blaze of Life: Nature revives,

Like a dim winking Lamp, that flashes brightly

With parting Light, and itrait is dark for ever. Rowe.Tam. The peaceful Slumber of the Grave is on me:

Ev'n all the tedious Day of Life I've wander'd,

Bewilder'd with Misfortunes:

my Home:

At length 'tis Night, and I have reach'd
Forgetting all the Toils and Troubles past,

Weary I lay me down, and fleep for ever. Rowe. Tamerl.
Perceiving now the King of Terrours near,

Stung with Remorfe, and grip'd with conscious Fear,
He drew in Throbs his interrupted Breath,

Eliza.

And, fhudd'ring, felt the cold Embrace of Death, (Blac. He agonizing lay,

His Strength declining by a swift Decay!

Cold

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Cold Sweats, deep Sighs, fhort, interrupted Breath,
Sadly prefag'd the near Approach of Death:
His Heart its vital Labour fcarce fuftain'd;

And Life's dim Lamp a doubtful Flame maintain'd:
The dying Youth fetch'd deep redoubled Sighs,
And endless Night feal'd up his beauteous. Eyes:
In Part his Beauty did the Youth furvive :
In Part his Charms in Death remain'd alive:
So the gay Tulip and the fweet Jonkyle,
Cut by the Gardner's unrelenting Steel,
Lie, gawdy Ruin! fmiling on the Ground,

Still with their lovely Hue and flow'ry Honours crown'd.

(Blac. Eliza Ev'n thus the Youth, altho' bereav'd of Breath, Preferv'd a pleasing Look, and smil'd-in Death: So a young Deer, whofe Front the fprouting Horn With the firft Velvet Honours does adorn, Prais'd for his Beauty, for his Vigour fear'd, At once the Pride and Envy of the Herd; Ah! hapless Fate! by cruel Huntsmen flain, Lies, lovely Victim! bleeding on the Plain: So a young Cedar, whofe confpicuous Head The fragrant Groves on Mocha's Hills furvey'd ; Which, ftrait and tall, the prefent Glory stood, The Hopes and promis'd Guardian of the Wood; Fell'd by the Steels untimely Stroke, defcends,

And on the Ground his beauteous Limbs extends. Blac.Eliza. Death, like a Froft on a too early Spring,

Steals on thy Bloffoms.

How. Velt. Virg.

To die when thou art young,

Is but too foon to fall afleep,

And lie afleep too long. D'Aven, Siege of Rhodes. When Tides of youthful Blood run high,

And Scenes of promis'd Joys are nigh;

Health prefuming,

Beauty blooming,

Oh, how dreadful 'tis to die! Add. Rof.
But why do we thy Death untimely deem,
Or Fate blafpheme?

We should thy full ripe Virtues wrong,
To think thee young:

Fate, when the did thy vig'rous Growth behold,
And all thy forward Glories told,

Forgot thy Tale of Years, and thought thee old:
The brisk Endowments of thy Mind,
Scorn'd in the Bud to be confin'd

Outrun thy Age, and left flow Time behind :

Which made thee reach Maturity fo foon,
And, at firft Dawn, present a full-spread Noon:
So thy Perfections with thy Soul agree,
Both knew no Nonage, knew no Infancy:
Thus the firft Pattern of our Race began

His Life in middle Age; at's Birth a perfect Man. Oldh
By Fate untimely torn,

This Hero blafted in the Bloffom lies:

The lovely Flow'r, hard Fate! but blows and dies :
Does it gay Honours to our Eyes display,

And, while we praise its Beauty, finks away. Blac. Eliza.

E.

EAGLE.

The Bird that bears th' Artillery of Jove;

The ftrong pounc'd Eagle.

Dryd. Ovid.

Doft thou inftruct the Eagle how to fly,

To fcorn the low'r Air, and tow'r the Sky?

On founding Pinions borne, he mounts and fhrowds
His proud afpiring Head amongst the Clouds:
Strong-pounc'd and fierce, he darts upon his Prey,
He foars in Triumph thro' th' Ethereal Way,
Bears on the Sun, and basks in open Day. Broome.
And as fome Eagle, that defigns to fly
A long unwonted Journey thro' the Sky,
Confiders all the dang'rous Way before,
Over what Lands and Seas fhe is to foar;
Doubts her own Strength fo far, and juftly fears
That lofty Road of airy Travellers

Prunes ev'ry Feather, views her felf with Care,
At length, refolv'd, the cleaves the yielding Air;
Away The flies, fo strong, fo high, fo faft,
She leffens to us, and is loft at last. Norm.

As the ftrong Eagle in the filent Wood,
Mindlefs of warlike Rage and hoftile Care,
Plays round the rocky Cliff, or cristal Flood,
Till, by Jove's high Behefts call'd out to War,
And charg'd with Thunder of his angry King,
His Bofom with the vengeful Meffage glows:
Upward the noble Bird directs his Wing,

And, tow'ring round his Mafter's Earth-born Foes,
Swift he collects his fatal Stock of Ire,

}

Lifts his fierce Talon high, and darts the forked Fire. Prior.

Thus

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