III. It strange, dear Author, yet it true is, All covet Life, yet call it Pain: Can Senfe this Paradox endure? Refolve me, CAMBRAY, or FONTAINE IV. The Man in graver Tragic known (Tho' his best Part long fince was done) Written in the Nouveaux Interefts des PRINCES de l' EURO PE. · BLEST be the Princes, who have fought For Pompous Names, or wide Dominion: Since by Their Error We are taught, ADRIANI MORIENTIS A D Animam Suam. ANIMULA, vagula, blandula, Hofpes, Comefque Corporis, Quæ nunc abibis in loca, Pallidula, rigida, nudula? Nec, ut foles, dabis joca. By Monfieur FONTENELLE. MA petite Ame, ma Mignonne, Tu t'en vas donc, ma Fille, & Dieu fçaçhe où Tu vas: Tu pars feulette, nuë, & tremblotante, Helas! Que deviendra ton humeur folichonne? Que deviendront tant de jolis ébats? ent IMITATE D. Poor little, pretty, fluttring Thing, And doft Thou prune thy trembling Wing, Thy humorous Vein, thy pleasing Folly Lyes all neglected, all forgot: And pensive, wav'ring, melancholy, Thou dread'ft and hop'ft Thou know'ft not what. A PASSAGE in the MORIÆ ENCOMIUM of ERASMUS Imitated. N awful Pomp, and Melancholy State, IN See fettl'd REASON on the Judgment Seat: Around Her croud DISTRUST, and DOUBT, and FEAR, See the fantastic Minstrelfy advance, And in the Sights We fee, and Sounds We hear, And in Their Place rejoyces to indite L Wild Schemes of Mirth, and Plans of loofe Delight. ΤΟ Dr. SHERLOCK, MON HIS PRACTICAL DISCOURSE Concerning DEATH. FORGIVE the Mufe, who in unhallow'd Strains The Saint one Moment from his GOD detains: For fure, whate'er You do, where-e'er You are, 'Tis all but one good Work, one conftant Pray'r: Forgive Her; and intreat That GOD, to Whom Thy favour'd Vows with kind Acceptance come, To raise her Notes to that fublime Degree, Which fuits a Song of Piety and Thee. Wond'rous good Man! whofe Labours may repel The Force of Sin, may stop the Rage of Hell: Thou, like the BAPTIST, from thy GOD waft fent The crying Voice, to bid the World repent. Thee YOUTH fhall ftudy; and no more engage Finding Finding the wretched All They here can have, Decrepit AGE fhall read Thee, and confess, Thy Labours can affwage, where Med'cines cease : Shall bless thy Words, their wounded Souls Relief, The Drops that sweeten their laft Dregs of Life: Shall look to Heav'n, and laugh at all beneath; Own Riches gather'd, Trouble; Fame, a Breath; And LIFE an Ill, whofe only Cure is DEATH. Thy even Thoughts with so much Plainnefs flow; On it's bleft Steps each Age and Sex may rise: A Nation's Food, and All to ev'ry Tafte. To it's laft Height mad BRITAIN's Guilt was rear'd: And various DEATH for various Crimes She fear'd: With your kind Work her drooping Hopes revive: You bid Her read, repent, adore, and live: You |