University of Virginia Library

A Gallant liv'd in Pride of Youthfull Powers,
Lull'd in soft Ease, bless'd Health, and tender hours:
Whose Easy Mind ne're ruffled was with Care,
Nor did the Toyl, or Load of Business bear:
Ne're knew Concern, but an Intreague of Love,
Nor beyond that amuzing Court did rove.
But stretch'd in shades he like an Indian lay;
To every smiling Moment's Birth did play,
And drank and danc'd and sang the Circling Years away.

To whom Death did in griezly shape appear,
Unerring Death, that doth to all repair,
Meets us in Beds of Down, as well as Fields of War.
Th' Officious Fiend doth on our footsteps tread,
Dresses in every Shape his hatefull Head,
As oft in what we Love, as what we dread.
The Poor beneath their troubles groaning dy,
The Rich expire in Exstasies of Joy:
The Manner differs, not the Destiny.

Th' Amazed Spark, struck with a cold surprize,
Who had with pleasing Objects fed his Eyes,
Found at the sight, wild Notions fill'd his head,
And all his Youthfull Warmth and Vigour fled.
Till he, recover'd from his deep amaze,
Ask'd the Grim Shape, from whence, and what He was.
To whom the Spectre with insulting pride,
Lifting his Conquering Arm on high reply'd.—
“I'me the world's Monarch; to Me Princes bow,
“Scepters and Crowns do at my feet fall low.
“At my Command the suppliant Numbers come,
“And take their fixt inevitable Doom.
“All Creatures do beneath my Empire lie;
“And willing, or unwilling, they must die.
The Pointed Accents the Young Spark did hear,
Being already almost dead for fear;
And cry'd, “My tender Youth (great Monarch) spare.
“I am a feeble, unresisting, Prey,
“Too mean for your Victorious hand to slay.
“'Twill sully all your former glorious Fame,
“To say, You such a Prostrate overcame.
“The rugged Souldier doth your force defie,
“And loudly calls on You, that from him fly.
“Dares you in your own Realm, the Scenes of blood,
“Where scatter'd Members o're the Fields are strow'd.
“The wretched Prisoner your Relief demands,
“And begs his wish'd-for Freedom from your hands,
“That can his fetters lose and break his Bands.
“Despairing Lovers, that no Joy do know,
“Do hope to find in You an End of Woe.
“You fly from those, that do defie your power,
“Are deaf to those, that do your Aid implore.—
“Humble the Haughty, with the Wretch comply;
“And let untouch'd the prostrate Suppliant lie.

Death seem'd to such a soft entreaty kind;
If ever he to Pitty was inclin'd,
(But Wisemen say, he's Deaf, as well as Blind.)
And told him, He his unripe Youth would spare,
But bad him for his next Approach prepare,
For he would then no vain excuses hear.
Th' emboldned Youth acknowledg'd his high sway,
And promis'd, his next Summons to obey;
But begg'd, he might have notice of the Day.
To whom Death cry'd, “You shall have what you crave,
“You shall of my Approach due warning have.
Glad of's Departure the Joy'd Youth arose,
Lapp'd his late frighted Soul in soft Repose:
Sang Requiems to his now-composed Mind,
Tasted each pleasure, that look'd fair or kind:
Did set no bounds to' impetuous Desire,
Freely embrac'd what Passion did require.
Ne're thought of Death more, or the threatned Grave
Which Melancholly dreadfull Prospects gave,
But still on this rely'd, He should a Warning have.
No Preparations for's Departure made,
But to the Time of Age that Work delay'd,
And hop'd, that Debt ev'en then might be defray'd.
At last unlook'd-for Death approach did make
And him did from's enchanted slumber wake:
Who loudly at the Injury did rave,
And taxed Death, that he no Warning gave.
Who, smiling with a Grin, in Scorn reply'd,
“My Justice in all Ages hath been try'd:
“With equal feet to Crowns and Spades I come,
“None are above, none are below, my Doom.
“I've kept my promise; I fair warning gave,
“Each time you slept, I warn'd You of the Grave.
“Sleep is my Younger Brother, we dwell nigh;
“And there's but one step betwixt Him and Me.
“I i'th' last Feaver did to you appear,
“And when the Dropsie seiz'd You, I was near.
“Your Nerves in Lust and in Debauch'ry broke,
“Your Palsie Hands in drunken Revels shook,
“Loudly with pressing signes did on You call:
“But You, regardless You, was Deaf to all.
“You scap'd before, and hop'd still so to doe,
“Far from your thoughts did drive the Day of Wo,
“You would not hear me call, nor will I you.
Th' Astonish'd Youth but little had to say,
And Death, who now refus'd to hear him Pray,
With one stroke even to That did stop the Way.