At ten times seven my glass is run,
And I poor silly man must die;
I looked up and saw the sun,

Had overcome the crystal sky.
So now I must this world forsake,
Another man my place must take.

Now you may see, as in a glass,
The whole estate of mortal men;
How they from seven to seven do pass,

Untill they are threescore and ten;

And when their glass is fully run,
They must leave off as they begun.

III.

The Young Man's Wish.

FROM an old copy, without printer's name, in possession of the editor: probably one from the Aldermary Church-yard press. Poems in triplets were very popular during the reign of Charles I, as also during the Interregnum, and the reign of Charles II.

If I could but attain my wish,

I'd have each day one wholesome dish,
Of plain meat, or fowl, or fish.

A glass of port, with good old beer,
In winter time a fire burnt clear,
Tobacco, pipes, an easy chair.

In some clean town a snug retreat,
A little garden 'fore my gate,

With thousand pounds a year estate.

After my house expense was clear,
Whatever I could have to spare,

The neighb'ring poor should freely share.

To keep content and peace through life, I'd have a prudent cleanly wife, Stranger to noise, and eke to strife.

Then I, when blest with such estate,
With such an house, and such a mate,
Would envy not the worldly great.

Let them for noisy honours try,
Let them seek worldly praise, while I
Unnoticed would live and die.

But since dame Fortune 's not thought fit

To place me in affluence, yet,

I'll be content with what I get.

He's happiest far whose humble mind,

Is unto Providence resign'd,

And thinketh fortune always kind.

Then I will strive to bound my wish,
And take, instead of fowl and fish,
Whate'er is thrown into my dish.

Instead of wealth and fortune great,
Garden and house and loving mate,
I'll rest content in servile state.

I'll from each folly strive to fly,
Each virtue to attain I'll try,
And live as I would wish to die.

IV.

The Midnight Messenger:

OR A SUDDEN CALL FROM AN EARTHLY GLORY TO THE

COLD GRAVE.

In a Dialogue between Death, and a Rich Man; who, in the midst of all his Wealth, received the tidings of his Last Day, to .. his unspeakable and sorrowful Lamentation.

To the tune of "Aim not too high," &c.

THE following poem, as also those numbered V and VI, belongs to a class of publications which have ever been peculiar favourites with the poor, in whose cottages they may be frequently seen, neatly framed and glazed, and suspended from the white-washed wall. They belong to the school of Quarles, and can be traced to the time when that writer was in the height of his popularity. These religious dialogues are numerous, but the majority of them

are very namby-pamby-productions, and unworthy of a reprint. The modern editions preserve the old form of the broadside of the seventeenth century, and are adorned with rude woodcuts, probably copies of the original ones—

"wooden cuts

Strange, and uncouth; dire faces, figures dire,
Sharp-knee'd, sharp elbowed, and lean ancled too,
With long and ghostly shanks, forms which once seen,
Çan never be forgotten!"--Wordsworth's Excursion.

DEATH.

THOU wealthy man of large possessions here,
Amounting to some thousand pounds a year,
Extorted by oppression from the poor,

The time is come that thou shalt be no more;
Thy house therefore in order set with speed,
And call to mind how you your life do lead,
Let true repentance be thy chiefest care,
And for another world now, now prepare;
For notwithstanding all your heaps of gold,
Your lands and lofty buildings manifold,
Take notice you must die this very day,
And therefore kiss your bags and come away.

RICH MAN.

(He started straight and turn'd his head aside,
Where seeing pale fac'd Death, aloud he cried),
Lean famish'd slave! why do you threaten so,
Whence come you, pray, and whither must I go?.

DEATH.

I come from ranging round the universe,
Thro' courts and kingdoms far and near I pass,

Where rich and poor, distressèd, bond and free,
Fall soon or late a sacrifice to me.

From crowned Kings to captives bound in chains
My power reaches, sir; the longest reigns.
That ever were, I put a period to;

And now I'm come in fine to conquer you.

RICH MAN.

I can't nor won't believe that you, pale Death,
Were sent this day to stop my vital breath,
By reason I in perfect health remain,
Free from diseases, sorrow, grief, and pain;
No heavy heart, nor fainting fits have I,
And do you say that I am drawing nigh
The latter minute? sure it cannot be;
Depart therefore, you are not sent for me.

DEATH.

Yes, yes, I am, for did you never know,
The tender grass and pleasant flowers that grow
Perhaps one minute, are the next cut down,
And so is man, tho' fam'd with high renown?
Have you not heard the doleful passing bell
Ring out for those that were alive and well
The other day, in health and pleasure too,
And had as little thoughts of death as you ?
For let me tell you, when my warrant's seal'd,
The sweetest beauty that the earth doth yield
At my approach shall turn as pale as lead;
"Tis I that lay them on their dying bed.