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the World against the present Time but only that it is present; why when hereafter comes to be present the Reason will be just the fame. So that thy present Unwillingness is so far from beirg a just Reason against it, that it is a good Reaibn the other Way; because thou art unwilling now, and like to be more so hereafter; if thou intendestto do it at all, thou shouldest set about it immediately, and without Delay. In Matters of great and necessary Concernment, and which must be done. there is no greater Argument of a weak and impotent Mind than Irresolution; to be undetermined where the Case is so plain, and the Neceisity so urgent; to be always about doing that which we are convinced must be done.

Vifluros agimus semfer, nee •vidimus unquam.

We are always intending to live a new Lift, but can never sind a Time to set about it. This is- as if a Man should put off eating and drinking and sleeping from one Day and Night to another, till he has starved and destroyed himself.

The hoary Fool, who many Days Has struggled with continued Sorrow,

Renews his Hope, and blindly lays The desperate Bett upon to-morrow.

To-morrow comes, 'tis Noon, 'tis Night, This Day like all the former flies;

Yet on he runs to seek Delight .■^morrow, 'till to-night he dies- Prior.

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An Elegy lurttten in a Country Church-Yard.


THE Cursew tolls the Knell of parting Day,
The lowing Herd winds slowly o'er the Lea,
The Plowman homeward plods his weary Way,
And leaves the World to Darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering Landscape on the Sight,
And all the Air a solemn Stillness holds,

Save where the Beetle wheels his drony Flight,
And drowsy Tinklings lull the distant Folds;

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled Tow'r
The moping Owl does to the Moon complain

Of such, as wand'ring near her secret Bow'r,
Molest her ancient, solitary Reign.

Beneath those rugged Elms, that Yew Tree's Shade,
Where heaves the Turf in many a meuld'ring

Each in his narrow Cell sor ever laid, ,

The rude Forefathers of the Hamlet sleep.

Thehreezy Call of Incense-breathing Morn,
The Swallow twitt'ring from the Straw built Shed

The Cock's shrill Clarion, or the echoing Horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly Bed.

From them no more the blazing Hearth mail burn,
Or busy Housewise ply her Ev'ning Care:

No Children run to lisp their Sire's Return,
Or climb his Knees the envied Kiss to share.

K 3 Oft

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Oft did the Harvest, to their Sickle Yield,

Their Furrow oft the stubborn Glebe has broke;

How jocund did they drive their Teams a-sield!
How bow'd the Woods beneath their sturdy Stroke,

Let not Ambition mock their useful Toil,
Their.homely Joys, and Destiny obscure;

Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful Smile,
The short and simple Annals of the Poor.

The Boast of Heraldry, the Pomp of Pow'r,
And all that Beauty, all that Wealth e'er gave,

Await alike th' inevitable Hour,

The Paths of Glory lead but to the Grave.

Nor you, ye Proud, impute to These the fault,
If Mem'ry o'er their Tomb no Trophies raise,

Where thro' the long-drawn Ifle, and fretted Vault
The pealing Anthem swells the Note of Praise.

Can storied Urn or animated Bust .

Back to its Mansion call the fleeting Breath I Can Honour's Voice provoke the/dent Dust,

Or Flatt'ry sooth the dull cold Ear of Death >

Perhaps in this neglected Spot is laid
- Some Heart once pregnant with celestial Fire;
Hands, that the Rod of Empire might have sway'dj
Or wak'd to E&afy the living Lyre.

But Knowledge to their Eyes her ample Page
Rich with the Spoils of Time did ne'er unroll;

Chill Penury repreiVd their noble Rage,
And fro^e tlie seniaj Current of the Soul. .


Full many a Gem of purest Ray serene,

The dark unfathom'd Caves of Ocean bear;

Full many a Flower is born to blusti unseen,
And waste its Sweetness on the desert Air.

Some Village Hampden, that with dauntless Breast
The little Tyrant of the Fields withstood;

Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,

Some Cromwell guiltless of his Country's Blood.

Th' Applause of list'ning Senates tp command,
The Threats of Pain and Ruin to"despise,

To scatter Plenty o'er a smiling Land,

And read their Hist'ry in a Nation's.Eyes."

Their Lot sorbad: nor circumfciib'd alone

Their growing Virtues, but their. Crimes con-
sin'd:" .:

Forbad to wade thro' -Slaughter to a Throne,
And shut the Gates of Mercy on Martkind.. ■■'{

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The struggling Pangs of conscious Truth to hide,
To quench the Blushes of ingenuous Shame,

Or heap the Shrine of Luxury and Pride
With Inceme kindled at the Mute's Flame.

Far from the madding Crowd's ignoble Strife,
Their sober Wishes never learnt to stray;

Along the cool sequester'd Vale of Life

They kept the noiseless Tenor of their Way.

Vet ev'n these Bones from Insult to protect,
Some frail Memorial still erected nigh,



With uncouth Rhimes and shapeless Sculpture deck'd, Implores the paffing Tribute of a Sigh.

Their Name, their Years, fpelt by th' unletter'd Muse,

The Place of Fame and Elegy supply r And many a holy Text around she strews.

To teach the rustic Moralist to die.

For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing anxious Being e'er resign'd,

Left the warm Precincts of the chearful Day,
Nor cast one longing ling'ring Look behind.

On some sond Breast the parting Soul relief,
Some pious Drops the closing Eye requires;

Ev'n from the Tomb the Voice of Nature cries,
Ev'n in our Ashes live their wonted Fires.

For thee who mindful of th' unhononr'd Dead
Dost in these Lines their artless Tale relate;

If chance, by lonely Contemplation led,
Some kindred Spirit shall enquire thy Fate.

Haply some hoary-headed Swain may soy,
'Oft have we seen him at the Peep of Dawn

* Brushing with hasty Steps the Dews away

* To meet the Su N upon the Upland Lawn.

* There at the Foot ofyonder nodding Beech,

* That wreaths its old fantastic Roots so high,

* His listless Length at Noon-tide would he stretch,

'And pore upon the Brook that babbles by.


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