Death.
See Death to be remember'd. Against the Fear of Death.

Long Night will over all it's Darkness spread,
And all must range the Regions of the Dead.
By Rage urg'd on, the Soldier falls in War,
The Sea destroys the greedy Mariner:
The old and young in Heaps together lie,
And from the Stroke of Death there's none can fly--

Or Rich, or Poor, by whom begot,
Or King or Beggar, matters not:
Nor Birth, nor Wealth, nor ought can save
Man from the unrelenting Grave.

Our Lots are in the Urn of Fate,
And out they come, or soon, or late:
Then pass we to that silent Shore,
From whence there's no returning more.--

Death spurns at Grandeur, and brings down
As well the Monarch as the Clown:
His inevitable Blow
Equals both the High and Low.--

Tho' Thou hadst all the Spice and Gold
Arabia or the Indies hold,
Tho' with thy Vessels Thou explore
The Tyrrhene and the Pontic Shore,
On Thee when Fate with Iron Claws
Shall seize, Thou must obey it's Laws:
No Wealth Thy Mind from Fear can save,
Or keep thy Body from the Grave.--

Hither all tend, hence all things rise, here fall:
Rugged the Road, but must be pass'd by all.
All must the triple headed Dog implore,
In Charon's Boat all must be ferry'd o'er.
Bright Steel and Brass in vain attempt to save:
Death drags the Wearer trembling to the Grave.
Achilles' Force, nor Nerea's charmful Bloom,
Nor Croesus' Wealth could save them from the Tomb.--

With equal Force pale Death, or soon, or late,
Knocks at the Cottage and the Palace Gate.
Life's Span forbids Us to extend our Cares,
Or stretch our flatt'ring Hopes beyond our Years:
Night urges on, and You must quickly go
To fabled Ghosts, and Pluto's Courts below.--

Ah! swiftly, swiftly roll the Years away!
Nor can thy Piety, my Friend, delay
Wrinkles, and intruding Age,
And Death's unconquerable Rage.
Tho', daily, Thou with Hecatombs invoke
That dreadful Monarch, deaf to all thy cries,
Inexorable, He will give the Stroke,
Even whilst thy Prayers, yet unfinish'd, rise:
That Stroke! which heretofore has laid
The Great, the Strong, the Beauteous in the Dust:
Which all the Dead have felt, and all the Living must;
Nor Prince nor Beggar can it's Force evade.--

Death swift pursues the Man that flies,
Nor spares the coward Youth, nor heeds his Cries:
Stab'd thro' the Back he falls, a trembling Sacrifice.--

Dying's a Debt that we and our's must pay.--

Death only this mysterious Truth unfolds,
The mighty Soul, how small a Body holds.--

--Death just before our Eyes,
Spoils all our Boasts, and learns Us to be wise.--

The Sun that sets, again will rise,
And give the Day, and gild the Skies:
But when we lose our little Light,
We sleep in everlasting Night.--

Whate'er thy Eyes behold is dead, or dying:
The Nights, the Days, pass on, and are no more:
The Stars of Heav'n decay: nor ought avail
Earth's firm Foundations: they must perish too,
And all it's mighty Fabrick be dissolv'd.
And can we then lament that Man must die,
And perish all his mortal fleeting Race?
War cuts off Part, and Part the Seas o'erwhelm:
These luckless Love swift to Destruction brings:
These Rage; and These unsatisfy'd Desire:
Omitting all Distemper's dreadful Train,
Some Winter's penetrating Rigour kills,
Others the baneful Dog--Star's sultry Ray,
And Others sickly Autumn's chilling Showers.
What had Beginning must expect an End.
All, All must die, All to the Grave must go:--
As Æacus shakes the Urn, We hence, by Lot,
Are call'd, to Death's immensurable Shades.--

Ye Pow'rs! who under Earth your Realms extend,
To whom all Mortals must one Day descend:
All our Possessions are but Loans from You,
And soon, or late, you must be paid your Due:
Hither we haste to Humankind's last Seat,
Your endless Empire, and our sure Retreat.--

How wretched is it not to know to die!--

Of Life whoever pleases can deprive Us,
But none can rob Us of the Means of Dying:
To Death a thousand Ways are always open.—
Death be Mindful of.
See Death.

Amidst a Life of Hopes and anxious Cares,
Of varying Passions, and disturbing Fears,
Think every Day, soon as the Day is past,
That Thou hast liv'd, of thy short Life, the last:
The next Day's joyful Light thine Eyes shall see,
When unexpected, will more welcome be.--

No Night succeeds the Day, no Morning's Light
Rises to chace the sullen Shades of Night,
Wherein there is not heard the dismal Groans
Of dying Men, mix'd with the woful Moans
Of living Friends; and also with the Cries,
And Dirges, fitting fun'ral Obsequies.--

From Day to Day with equal Pace,
Our sliding Moments steal away:
Nor is the changing Moon's Increase
Ought but her Progress to decay.
Yet You amus'd with airy Dreams,
Forgetful that the Grave is near,
Are busy'd with your endless Schemes,
And building stately Houses here.--

Prepare the Bed, prepare the Wine,
Perfumes diffuse, and Roses twine:
But yet remember Death must be,
So Jove himself commandeth Thee.--
Death (Against the Fear of it.)
See Death.

What has this Bugbear Death to frighten Man,
If Souls can die as well as Bodies can?
For as before our Birth we felt no Pain,
When Punic Arms infested Land and Main:
So when our mortal Frame shall be disjoyn'd,
The lifeless Lump uncoupled from the Mind,
From Sense of Grief and Pain we shall be free:
We shall not feel, because we shall not be.
Tho' Earth in Seas, and Seas in Heav'n were lost,
We should not move, we only should be toss'd.
Nay, ev'n suppose when we have suffer'd Fate,
The Soul could feel in her divided State,
What's that to Us? for We are only We,
While Souls and Bodies in one Frame agree.--

But to be snatch'd from all thy Household Joys,
From thy chaste Wife, and thy dear prattling Boys,
Whose little Arms about thy Legs are cast,
And climbing for a Kiss, prevent their Mother's Haste,
Inspiring secret Pleasure through thy Breast:
All these shall be no more:--thy Friends oppress'd
Thy Care and Courage now no more shall free:--
Ah! Wretch! thou cry'st; Ah! miserable me!
One woeful Day sweeps Children, Friends, and Wife,
And all the brittle Blessings of my Life!--
Add one Thing more, and All thou say'st is true:
Thy Want and Wish of them is vanish'd too:
For Thou shalt sleep, and never wake again,
And quitting Life, shall quit thy living Pain.
The worst that can befall Thee, measur'd right,
Is a sound Slumber, and a long Good--Night.--

When careful Thoughts of Death disturb thy Head,
Consider, Ancus, great and good, is dead:
Ancus, thy better far, was born to die:
And Thou! dost Thou bewail Mortality?
How many Monarchs with their mighty State,
Who rul'd the World, were over--rul'd by Fate?

That haughty King, who lorded o'er the Main,
And whose stupendous Bridge did the wild Waves restrain:
In vain they foam'd, in vain they threaten'd Wreck,
While his proud Legions march'd upon their Back:
Him Death, a greater Monarch, overcame,
Nor spar'd his Guards the more for their immortal Name,

The Roman Chief, the Carthaginian Dread,
Scipio the Thunderbolt of War is dead,
And like a common Slave by Fate in Triumph led.

The Founders of invented Arts are lost;
And Wits who made Eternity their Boast:
Where now is Homer, who possess'd the Throne?
Th' immortal Work remains, the mortal Author's gone.

Democritus perceiving Age invade,
His Body weaken'd, and his Mind decay'd,
Obey'd the Summons with a chearful Face;
Made haste to welcome Death, and met him half the Race.

That Stroke, ev'n Epicurus could not bar,
Tho' he in Wit surpass'd Mankind, as far
As does the mid--day Sun the mid--night Star.
Then Thou, dost Thou disdain to yield thy Breath,
Whose very Life is little more than Death?
More than one half by lazy Sleep possess'd,
And when awake, thy Soul but nods at best,
Day--Dreams and sickly Thoughts revolving in thy Breast.
Eternal Troubles haunt thy anxious Mind,
Whose Cause and Cure thou never hop'st to find:
But still uncertain, with thyself at Strife,
Thou wander'st in the Labyrinth of Life.--

Nor, by the longest Life we can attain,
One Moment from the Length of Death we gain:
For all behind belongs to his eternal Reign.
When once the Fates have cut the mortal Thread,
The Man as much to all Intents is dead,
Who dies to Day, and will as long be so,
As He who dy'd a thousand Years ago.--

Yet thus the Fools, who would be thought the Wits,
Disturb their Mirth with melancholy Fits,
When Healths go round, and kindly Brimmers flow,
Till the fresh Garlands on their Foreheads glow,
They whine, and cry, let us make haste to live!
Short are the Joys that human Life can give!
Eternal Preachers, that corrupt the Draught,
And pall the God, that never thinks with Thought:
Idiots with all that Thought, to whom the worst
Of Death, is Want of Drink, and endless Thirst.
Or any fond Desire as vain as these.

For ev'n in Sleep, the Body wrapt in Ease
Supinely lyes as in the peaceful Grave,
And wanting nothing, nothing can it crave.
Were that sound Sleep eternal, it were Death:
Yet the first Atoms then, the Seeds of Breath
Are moving near to Sense: we do but shake
And rouse that Sense, and straight we are awake.
Then Death, to Us, and Death's Anxiety,
Is less than Nothing, if a Less could be;
For then our Atoms, which in order lay,
Are scatter'd from their Heap, and puff'd away;
And never can return into their Place,
When once the Pause of Life has left an empty Space.--

Death's always past or coming on; in this
There never any thing of present is:
And the Delays of Death more painful are,
Than Death itself, or Dying is, by far.--

You, whom the Terrors of cold Death affright:
Why do you tremble at an empty Name,
A Dream of Darkness, and a fancy'd Flame?
Vain Themes of Wit! which but in Poems pass,
And Fables of a World that never was!
Nought feels the Body when the Soul expires,
By Time corrupted, or consum'd by Fires:
Nor dies the Spirit, but new Life repeats
In other Forms, and only changes Seats.--
Degeneracy.

Time sensibly all Things impairs:
Our Fathers have been worse than theirs,
And we than ours:--next Age will see
A Race more profligate than we.--

The Fates decree, that all Things here below
Rush into Worse, and ever downward go:
Not otherwise, than when against the Course
Of some fierce Stream, one strives with all his Force
Thro' the strong Tide to urge the Vessel on;
If once he slacks his Arm, he's instant gone,
And headlong hurry'd with the Torrent down.--

Not so, at first great Romulus prescrib'd;
Severe the Laws when Cato was our Guide:
With better Principles our Fathers liv'd,
And juster Maxims were of old receiv'd.--
Delay.
See Time to be used.

Delay gives Strength: the tender bladed Grain,
Shot up to Stalk, can stand the Wind and Rain.
The Tree, whose Branches now are grown too big
For Hands to bend, was set a tender Twig:
When planted, to the slightest Touch 'twou'd yield,
But now has got Possession of the Field.
Resist at first: for Help in vain we pray,
When Ills have gain'd full Strength by long Delay.
Be speedy: for who's not to Day inclin'd,
To morrow we shall more unwilling find.--

Who till to Morrow would his Work delay:
His lazy Morrow will be like to Day.
But is one Day of Ease too much to borrow?
Yes, sure; for Yesterday was once to Morrow.
That Yesterday is gone, and nothing gain'd:
And all thy fruitless Days will thus be drain'd:
For Thou hast more to Morrows still to ask,
And wilt be ever to begin thy Task:
Who, like the hindmost Chariot Wheels, art curst
Still to be near, but ne'er to reach the first.--

Stop the Disease in Time: for, when within
The Dropsy rages, and extends the Skin,
In vain for Hellebore the Patient cries,
And fees the Doctor, but too late is wise.
What then avail his offer'd Bags of Wealth?
Not all the Colledge can restore his Health.--

He's got half way that has his Work begun:
Then dare be wise, and venture boldly on:
Begin to live: this Moment's in thy Pow'r,
Employ it then, nor wait a fitter Hour,
Like some dull Clown, who at a River's Side
Expecting stands, in Hopes the running Tide
Will all e'er long be past:--Fool! not to know,
It still has flow'd the same, and will for ever flow.--
Deluge.
See Flood.

The Skies from Pole to Pole with Peals resound,
And Show'rs enlarg'd, come pouring on the Ground.
Th' expanded Waters gather on the Plain:
And float the Fields, and overtop the Grain:
Then rushing onwards, with a sweepy Sway,
Bear Flocks, and Folds, and lab'ring Hinds away.
Nor safe their Dwellings were, for, sapp'd by Floods,
Their Houses fell upon their Household Gods.
The solid Piles too strongly built to fall,
High o'er their Heads behold a watry Wall:
Now Seas and Earth were in Confusion lost,
A World of Waters, and without a Coast.

One climbs a Cliff: one in his Boat is born:
And plows above, where late he sow'd his Corn.--

One sails where Village--Tops the Waves o'erwhelm,
One Fishes takes amidst a lofty Elm.
In Fields they Anchor cast, if Chance so guide,
While crooked Keels oppress the Vineyard's Side.
Where on the Grass, the Kids but lately fed,
The monstrous Sea--Calf forms his oosy Bed.
Beneath the deep, the Nereids, in Surprize,
See Woods, and Groves, and Towns, and Temples rise.
The Dolphins now amidst the Forests glide,
Shake the tall Oaks, and beat the Boughs aside.
The frighted Wolf now swims amongst the Sheep;
Lions and Tygers mingle in the deep:
His Swiftness now avails the Hart no more,
Nor Force of Light'ning aids the tusked Boar.--

The Birds, long beating on their Wings in vain,
Despair of Land, and drop into the Main.
Now Hills and Vales no more Distinction know:
And levell'd Nature lies oppress'd below.
The most of Mortals perish in the Flood:
The small Remainder dies for Want of Food.—