Of being unmolested and alone.
Arabia's gums and odoriferous drugs,
And honours by the heralds duly paid,
In mode and form ev'n to a very scruple;
Oh! cruel irony! these come too late,

And only mock whom they were meant to honour.
Surely there's not a dungeon slave that's bury'd
In the highway, unshrouded and uncoffin'd,
But lies as soft, and sleeps as sound as he.
Sorry pre-eminence of high descent,

Above the vulgar born, to rot in state.

But see! the well-plum'd hearse comes nodding on, Stately and slow; and properly attended By the whole sable tribe, that painful watch The sick man's door, and live upon the dead, By letting out their persors by the hour, To mimic sorrow where the heart's not sad. How rich the trappings! now they're all unfurl'd, And glittering in the sun; triumphant entries

Of

conquerors, and coronation pomps,

In glory scarce exceed. Great gluts of people Retard th' unwieldy show; whilst from the case

ments

And houses' tops, ranks behind ranks, close wedg'd, Hang bellying o'er. But tell us, why this waste, Why this ado in earthing up a carcass

That's fall'n into disgrace, and in the nostril
Smells horrible? Ye undertakers, tell us,
Midst all the gorgeous figures you exhibit,
Why is the principal conceal'd, for which
You make this mighty stir?-Tis wisely done :
What would offend the eye in a good picture,
The painter casts discreetly into shades.

Proud lineage, now how little thou appear'st
Below the envy of the private man!
Honour, that meddlesome, officious ill,

Pursues thee ev'n to death; nor there stops short:
Strange persecution! when the grave itself
Is no protection from rude sufferance.

Absurd to think to over-reach the Grave,
And from the wreck of names to rescue ours!
The best-concerted schemes men lay for fame,
Die fast away; only themselves die faster.
The far-fam'd sculptor, and the laurell'd bard,
Those bold insurancers of deathless fame,
Supply their little feeble aids in vain.

The tapering pyramid, th' Ægyptian's pride,
And wonder of the world, whose spiky top
Has wounded the thick cloud, and long outliv'd
The angry shaking of the winter's storm;
Yet spent at last by th' injuries of heaven,

Shatter'd with age, and furrow'd o'er with years,
The mystic cone with hieroglyphics crusted,
At once gives way. Oh! lamentable sight!
The labour of whole ages tumbles down,
A hideous and misshapen length of ruins.
Sepulchral columns wrestle but in vain
With all-subduing time; her cank'ring hand
With calm, delib'rate malice wasteth them:
Worn on the edge of days, the brass consumes,
The busto moulders, and the deep-cut marble,
Unsteady to the steel, gives up its charge.
Ambition, half-convicted of her folly,
Hangs down her head, and reddens at the tale.

Here all the mighty troublers of the earth, Who swam to sovʼreign rule thro' seas of blood; Th' oppressive, sturdy, man-destroying villains, Who ravag'd kingdoms, and laid empires waste, And, in a cruel wantonness of power,

Thinn'd states of half their people, and gave up
To want the rest; now, like a storm that's spent,
Lie hush'd, and meanly sneak behind the covert.
Vain thought! to hide them from the gen'ral scorn
That haunts and dogs them like an injur'd ghost
Implacable. Here, too, the petty tyrant,
Whose scant domains geographer ne'er notic'd,
And, well for neighbouring grounds, of arm as short,

Who fix'd his iron talons on the poor,
And grip'd them like some lordly beast of prey;
Deaf to the forceful cries of gnawing hunger,
And piteous plaintive voice of misery;

(As if a slave was not a shred of nature,

Of the same common nature with his lord;)

Now tame and humble, like a child that's whipp'd, Shakes hands with dust, and calls the worm his kinsman!

Nor pleads his rank and birth-right. Under ground
Precedency's a jest; vassal and lord,
Grossly familiar, side by side consume.

When self-esteem, or other's adulation,

[tery,

Would cunningly persuade us we are something
Above the common level of our kind,
The Grave gainsays the smooth-complexion'd flat-
And with blunt truth acquaints us what we are.

Beauty-thou pretty plaything, dear deceit! That steals so softly o'er the stripling's heart, And gives it a new pulse unknown before, The Grave discredits thee: thy charms expung'd, Thy roses faded, and thy lilies soil'd,

What hast thou more to boast of? Will thy lovers Flock round thee now, to gaze and do thee homage? Methinks I see thee with thy head low laid,

Whilst surfeited upon thy damask cheek
The high-fed worm, in lazy volumes roll'd,
Riots unscar'd. For this was all thy caution?
For this thy painful labour at thy glass,

T' improve those charms, and keep them in repair,
For which the spoiler thanks thee not? Foul feeder!
Coarse fare and carrion please thee full as well,
And leave as keen a relish on the sense.

Look how the fair-one weeps! the conscious tears
Stand thick as dew-drops on the bells of flowers;
Honest effusion! the swoln heart in vain
Works hard, to put a gloss on its distress.

Strength, too-thou surly and less gentle boast Of those that loud laugh at the village ring; A fit of common sickness pulls thee down With greater ease than e'er thou didst the stripling That rashly dar'd thee to th' unequal fight. What groan was that I heard? Deep groan, indeed! With anguish heavy laden. Let me trace it.— From yonder bed it comes, where the strong man, By stronger arm belabour'd, gasps for breath Like a hard-hunted beast. How his great heart Beats thick! his roomy breast by far too scant To give the lungs full play. What now avail The strong-built, sinewy limbs, and well-spread shoulders!