I kill with dropsy, phthisick, stone, and gout;
But when my raging fevers fly about,
I strike the man, perhaps, but over-night,
Who hardly lives to see the morning light;
I'm sent each hour, like to a nimble page,
To infant, hoary heads, and middle age;
Time after time I sweep the world quite thro';.
Then it's in vain to think I'll favour you.

RICH MAN.

Proud Death, you see what awful sway I bear,
For when I frown none of my servants dare
Approach my presence, but in corners hide
Until I am appeas'd and pacified.

Nay, men of greater rank I keep in awe
Nor did I ever fear the force of law,
But ever did my enemies subdue,
And must I after all submit to you?

DEATH.

'Tis very true, for why thy daring soul, Which never could endure the least controul, I'll thrust thee from this earthly tenement, And thou shalt to another world be sent.

RICH MAN.

What! must I die and leave a vast estate,

Which, with my gold, I purchas'd but of late? Besides what I had many years ago?—

What! must my wealth and I be parted so?

If you your darts and arrows must let fly,
Go search the jails, where mourning debtors lie;
Release them from their sorrow, grief, and woe,
For I am rich and therefore loath to go.

DEATH

I'll search no jails, but the right mark I'll hit;
And though you are unwilling to submit,
Yet die you must, no other friend can do,—
Prepare yourself to go, I'm come for you.

If

you had all the world and ten times more, Yet die you must,—there's millions gone before; The greatest kings on earth yield and obey, And at my feet their crowns and sceptres lay: If crowned heads and right renowned peers Die in the prime and blossoms of their years, Can you suppose to gain a longer space? No! I will send you to another place.

RICH MAN.

Oh! stay thy hand and be not so severe,
I have a hopeful son and daughter dear,
All that I beg is but to let me live

That I may them in lawful marriage give:
They being young when I am laid in the grave,
I fear they will be wrong'd of what they have:
Altho' of me you will no pity take,

Yet

spare me for my little infants' sake.

DEATH.

If such a vain excuse as this might do,

It would be long e'er mortals would go thro'

The shades of death; for

every man would find

Something to say that he might stay behind.
Yet, if ten thousand arguments they'd use,
The destiny of dying to excuse,

They'll find it is in vain with me to strive,
For why, I part the dearest friends alive;
Poor parents die, and leave their children small
With nothing to support them here withall,
But the kind hand of gracious Providence,
Who is their father, friend, and sole defence.
Tho' I have held you long in disrepute,
Yet after all here with a sharp salute
I'll put a period to your days and years,
Causing your eyes to flow with dying tears.

RICH MAN.

(Then with a groan he made this sad complaint): My heart is dying, and my spirits faint;

Το

my close chamber let me be convey'd; Farewell, false world, for thou hast me betray'd. Would I had never wrong'd the fatherless, Nor mourning widows when in sad distress; Would I had ne'er been guilty of that sin, Would I had never known what gold had been; For by the same my heart was drawn away To search for gold: but now this very day,

I find it is but like a slender reed,

Which fails me most when most I stand in need; For, woe is me! the time is come at last,

Now I am on a bed of sorrow cast,

C

Where in lamenting tears I weeping lie,
Because my sins make me afraid to die:
Oh! Death, be pleas'd to spare me yet awhile,
That I to God myself may reconcile,
For true repentance some small time allow,
I never fear'd a future state till now,
My bags of gold and land I'd freely give,
For to obtain the favour here to live,
Until I have a sure foundation laid.

Let me not die before my peace be made!

DEATH.

Thou hast not many minutes here to stay,
Lift up your heart to God without delay,
Implore his pardon now for what is past,
Who knows but he may save your soul at last?

RICH MAN.

I'll water now with tears my dying bed,
Before the Lord my sad complaint I'll spread,
And if he will vouchsafe to pardon me,

To die and leave this world I could be free.

False world! false world, farewell! farewell! adieu!
I find, I find, there is no trust in you!

For when upon a dying bed we lie,
Your gilded baits are nought but misery.
My youthful son and loving daughter dear,
Take warning by your dying father here;
Let not the world deceive you at this rate,
For fear a sad repentance comes too late.

Sweet babes, I little thought the other day,
I should so suddenly be snatch'd away
By Death, and leave you weeping here behind;
But life's a most uncertain thing, I find.
When in the grave my head is lain full low,
Pray let not folly prove your overthrow;
Serve ye the Lord, obey his holy will,
That he may have a blessing for you still.
(Having saluted them, he turned aside,
These were the very words before he died):

A painful life I ready am to leave,
Wherefore, in mercy, Lord, my soul receive..

V.

A Dialogue betwirt an Grciseman and

Death.

TRANSCRIBED from a printed copy in the British Museum. The idea of Death being employed to execute a writ, reminds the editor of an epitaph which he met with in a village church-yard at the foot of the Wrekin, in Shropshire, and which commenced thus:

"The King of Heaven a warrant got,

And seal'd it without delay,

And he did give the same to Death,

For him to serve straightway." &c. &c.

UPON a time when Titan's steeds were driven

To drench themselves beneath the western heaven;