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-defence in each profeffion;
Sure felf-defence is no tranfgreffion.
The little portion in my hands,
By good fecurity on lands
Is well increas'd. If, unawares,
My juftice to myself 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
My charities were amply fhown."
An Angel came. "Ah! Friend! he cry'd.
No more in flattering 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.
Prove your intention is fincere:
This inftant give a hundred pound;
Your neighbours want, and you abound.”
But why fuch hafte, the fick Man whines; Who knows as yet what Heaven defigns?
Perhaps I may recover still.
That fum and more are in my will."
"Fool, fays the Vifion, now 'tis plain
Your life, your foul, your Heaven, was gain.
From every fide, with all your might,
You fcrap'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 fuch hafte ?" fo groan'd, and dy'd. 50
THE PERSIAN, THE SUN, AND THE CLOUD.
Is there a bard whom genius fires,
Whofe every thought the God inspires ?
When Envy reads the nervous lines,
She frets, the rails, the raves, the pines;
Her hiffing fnakes with venom fwell;
She calls her venal train from hell:
The fervile fiends her nod obey,
And all Curll's authors are in pay.
Fame calls up Calumny and Spite:
Thus fhadow owes its birth to light.
As, proftrate to the God of Day, With heart devout, a Perfian lay, His invocation thus begun:
"Parent of Light! all-feeing Sun! Prolific beam, whofe rays dispense The various gifts of Providence, Accept our praife, our daily prayer;
Smile on our fields, and blefs the year."
A Cloud, who mock'd his grateful tongue,
The day with fudden darkness hung;
With pride and envy fwell'd, aloud
A voice thus thunder'd from the Cloud.
"Weak is this gaudy god of thine,
Whom I at will forbid to fhine.
Shall I nor vows nor incenfe know?
Where praife is due, the praife beftow."
With fervent zeal the Perfian 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;
When o'er his beams the veil is thrown,
Thy fubftance is but plainer fhown:
A paffing gale, a puff of wind,
Difpels thy thickest troops combin'd."
The gale arofe; the vapour toft
(The fport of winds) in air was loft;
The glorious orb the day refines.
Thus envy breaks, thus merit fhines.
THE FOX AT THE POINT OF DEATH.
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, fee, the murder'd Geefe appear!
Why are those bleeding Turkeys there?
Why all around this cackling train,
Who haunt my ears for chicken flain ?”
The hungry Foxes round them star'd,
And for the promis'd feast prepar’d.
"Where, Sir, is all this dainty cheer? Nor Turkey, Goofe, nor Hen, is here.. Thefe are the phantoms of your brain;
your fons lick their lips in vain.". "O Gluttons! fays the drooping Sire, Reftrain inordinate defire.
Your liquorifh taste you
peace of confcience is no more.
Does not the hound betray our pace,
And gins and guns destroy our race ?
Thieves dread the fearching eye of power ;
And never feel the quiet hour.
Old age (which few of us fhall know) T
Now puts a period tɔ my woe.
Would you true happiness attain,
Let honefty your paffions rein;
So live in credit and esteem,
And the good name you loft redeem.”
"The counfel's good, a Fox replies,
Could we perform what you advife.
Think what our ancestors have done;
A line of thieves from fon to fon.
To us defcends the long difgrace,
And infamy hath mark'd our race.
Though we, like harmlefs fheep, fhould feed,
Honeft in thought, in word, and deed,
Whatever hen-rooft is decreas'd,
We fhall be thought to fhare the feaft.
The change fhall never be believ'd.
A loft 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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