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Cardinal Wolsey'j Lamentation of bis fall.

Shakespeai

FAREWELL, along Farewell to all my Great
ness!
This is the State of Man; to-day he puts forth
The tender Leaves of Hope; to-morrow bloslbms,
And bears his blufliing Honours thick upon him;
The third Day comes a Frost, a killing Frost,
And when he thinks, good easy Man, full surely
His Greatness is a ripening, nips his Root;
And then falls, as I do. I have ventur'd,
Like little wanton Boys that swim on Bladders,
These many Summers, in a Sea of Glory;
But far beyond my Depth: My high-blown Pride
At length broke under me ; and now has left me,
Weary and old with Service, to the Mercy
Of a rude Stream, that must sor ever hide me.
Vain Pomp and Glory of this World, I hate you;
I seel my Heart new open'd. Oh, how wretched-jf
Is that poor Man, that hangs on Princes Favours W1
There is, betwixt that Smile which we aspire to,
That sweet Regard of Princes, and our Ruin,
More Pangs and Fears than War and Women know;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.
Cromwell, I diti'not think to shed a Tear
In all my Miseries ; but thou hast sorc'd me,
Out of thy honest Truth, to play the Woman—
Let's dry our Eyes: And thus far hear me, Cromwell.,
Mark but my Fall, and that which ruin'd me,
And when I am sorgotten, as I shall be,
And fleep in dull cold Marble, where no Mention

Of

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t/me mast more be heard : Say then, I taught thee Ay, Wolfey, that once rode the Waves of Glory, \vA sounded all the Depths and Shoals of Honour, Found thee a Way, out of this Wreck, to rise in; A sure and fase one, tho' thy Master" miss'd it. Cnmvje/l, I charge thee, fling away Ambition; 3y that Sin sell the Angels; how can Man then ^The Image of his Maker) hope to win by't? Love thyself last ; cherish those Hearts that wait thee; Corruption wins not more than Honesty. ?cill in thy right Hand carry gentle Peace, To silence envious Tongues. Be just, and sear not. M all the Ends thou aim'st at, be thy Country's, shy God's, and Truth's: Then if thou fall'A. O

CromwiU,' I hou fall'st a blesied Martyr. Serve the King;

Vnd, prithee, leadjne in

There take an Inventory of all I have;

To the last Penny, 'tis the King's. My Robe,

\nd my Integrity to Heaven", is all

now dare call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, fid I but servid my God with half the Zeal

i'erv'd my King, he would not in mine Age lave left me naked to mine Enemies.

Preservation by Land and by Sea.

A Divine ODE.

Spectator.

HOW are thy Servants blest,- O Lord!
How sure is their Desence!
Eternal Wisdom is their Guide,
Their Help Omnipotence.

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2. In foreign Realms, and Lands remote,

Supported by Thy Care,
Through burning Climes I pass'd unhurt,
And breath'd in tainted Air.

3. Thy Mercy sweeten'd ev'ry Soil,

Made ev'ry Region please;
The hoary Alpine Hills is warm'd,
And smooth'd the Tyrrhene Seas.

4. Think, O my Soul, devoutly think,

How with asfrighted Eyes > Thou faw'st the wide extended Deep In all its Horrors rife!

5. Consusion dwelt in ev'ry Face,

And Felr in ev'ry Heart; When Waves on Waves, and Gulphs in Gulpte O'ercame the Pilot's Art.

6. Yet then, from all my Griefs, O Lord,

Thy Mercy set me free,
Whilst in the Considence of Pray'r
My Soul took Hold on Thee;

7. For tho' in dreadful Whirls we hung

High on the broken Wave,
I knew Thou wert not flow to Hear,
]Slor Impotent to Save.

8. The Storm- was laid, the Winds retjr'd,

Obedient to thy Will;
The Sea, that roar'd at thy Command,
M'thy Command was still*

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9. In Midst of Dangers, Fears, and Death,

Thy Goodness I'll adore,
And praise thee sor thy Mercies past;
And humbly hope sor more.

10. My Lise, if thou preserv'st my Lise,

Thy Sacrisice shall be;
And Death, if Death must be my Doom,
Shall join my Soul to Thee.

Jl ECO VERY from SICKNESS.

A Divine ODE.

Spectator,

1. "'T T THEN rismg from the Bed of Death,

VV O'erwhelm'd with Guilt and Fear,
I see my Maker, Face to Face,
O how shall I appear!

2. If yet, while Pardon may be sound,

And Mercy may be soughtf
My Heart with inward Horror shrinks,
And trembles at the Thought;

3. When thou, O Lord, shalt stand difclos'd
■r* In Majesty severe,

And sit in Judgment on my Soul,

O how shall I appear! v .

4.. But Thou hast told the troubled Mind,
Whtfdoes her Sins lament,
The timely Tribute of her Tears
Shall endless Woe prevent.

G z 5, Then 5. 'I.iien see the Sorrows of my Heart. *

Ere yet it be too late;
And hear my Saviour's dying Groans
To give thoie Sorrows Weight.

6. For never shall my Soul despair

Her Pardon to procure,
Who knows thine only Son has dy'd
To make her Pardon sure.

An EPITAPH. . Spectator.

HERE Innocence and Beauty lies, whose Breath
Was snatch'd by early, not untimely Death-.
Hence did me go just as she did begin
Sorrow to know, besore she knew to sin.
Death, that does Sin and Sorrow thus prevent,
Is the next Blessing to a Lise well-spent.

On Mrs. Mason. /* Bristol Cathedral.
By the Rev. Mr. W. Mason.

TAKE, holy Earth,! all that my Sonl holds.
dear!
Take that bestfeft which Heav'n so lately gave; j.
To Bristol's Fount I bore with trembling Care
Her faded Form: She bow'd to taste the Wave,
And died'*~Does Youth, does Beauty read the Lines
Does sympathetic Fear their Breasts alarm?
Speak, dead MARIA ! breathe a Strain divine;'
Ev'n from the Grave thou shalt have Power to charm.
Bid them ^chaste, be innocent/like thee;

Bid

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