But were death frightful, what has age to fear?
If prudent, age should meet the friendly foe,
And shelter in his hospitable gloom.
I scarce can meet a monument but holds
My younger—ev'ry date cries—Come away!
And what calls me? Look the world around,
And tell me what? The wisest cannot tell.
Should any born of woman give his thought
Full range, on just dislike's unbounded field.
Of things the vanity—of men the flaws—
Flaws in the best—the many flaws all o'er—
As leopards spotted, or as Ethiops dark—
Vivacious ill—good dying immature
(How immature, Narcissa's marble tells)
And at his death bequeathing endless pain.
And spend itself in sighs for future scenes,
Why cling to this rude rock,
Barren to us of good and sharp with ills,
And hourly blackened with impending storms,
And infamous for wrecks of human hope—
Scar'd at the gloomy gulf that yawns beneath.
Give it its wholesome empire! let it reign,
That kind chastiser of my soul, in joy!
And why not think of death? Is life the theme
Of ev'ry thought, and wish of ev'ry hour.
And song of every joy? Surprising truth!
The beaten spaniel's fondness not so strange.
To waive the num'rous ills that seize on life
As their own property, their lawful prey,
Ere man has measured half his weary stage
His luxuries have left him no reserve,
No maiden relishes unbroacht delights—On cold-serv'd repetitions he subsists,And in the tasteless present chews the past—Disgusted chews, and scarce can swallow down.
Live ever here, Lorenzo?—shocking thought!So shocking those who wish disown it, too—Disown from shame what they from folly crave.A truth it is few doubt, but fewer trust—He sins against this life who slights the next.What is this life? How few their fav'rite know!Life has no value as an end, but meansAn end deplorable! a means divine!—Young

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