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De sacris autem koc sic una sententia, ut conseruentur.

Cic. de Leg. But let us all concur in this one sentiment, that things sacred bo inviolate.

He lives, who lives to God alone

And all are dead beside ,
For other source than God is none

Whence life can be supplied.'

To live to God is to requite

His love as best we may ::
To make his precepts our delight,

His promises our stay..

But life, within a narrow ring

of giddy joys compris'd,
Is falsely nam'd, and no such thing, ·

But rather death disguis'd.

Can life in them deserve the name,

Who only live to prove
For what poor toys they can disclaim

An endless life above.

Who much diseas'd, yet nothing feel;

Much menac'd, nothing dread,
Have wounds, which only God can heal,

Yot never ask his aid ?

Who deem his house a useless place,

Faith want of common senso ; And ardour in the Christian race,

A hypocrito's pretence ?

Who trample order; and the day,

Which God asserts his own, Dishonour with unhallow'd play,

And worship chance alone ?

If scorn of God's commands, impress'd

On word and deed, imply
The better part of man unbless'd

With life that cannot die;

Such want it, and that want uncus'd

Till man resigns his breath, Speaks him a criminal, assur'd

Of everlasting death.

Sad period to a pleasant course!

Yet so will God repay
Sabbaths profan’d without remorse,

And mercy cast away.



PAUSE here, and think: a monitory rhyme Demands one moment of thy fleeting time.

Consult life's silent clock, thy bounding vein ; Seems it to say—“ Health here has long to reign ?» Hast thou the vigour of thy youth? an eye That beams delight ? a heart untaught to sigh? Yet fear. Youth, ofttimes healthful and at ease, Anticipates a day it never sees; And many a tomb, like Hamilton's, aloud Exclaims,“ Prepare thee for an early shroud."


HERE lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue,

Nor swifter grayhound follow,
Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew,

Nor ear heard huntsman's halloo, .

Oid Tiney, surliest of his kind,

Who, nurs'd with tender care, And to domestick bounds confin'd,

Was still a wild Jack-hare

Though duly from my hand he took

His pittance ev'ry night, He did it with a jealous look,

And, when he could, would bita,

His diet was of wheaten bread,

And milk, and oats, and straw; Thistles, or lettuces instead,

With sand to scour his maw.

On twigs of hawthorn he regal'd,

On pippen's russet peel,
And, when his juicy salads fail'd,

Slic'd carrot pleas'd him well.

A turkey carpet was his lawn

Whereon he lov'd to bound, To skip and gambol like a fawn,

And swing his rump around.

His frisking was at ev'ning hours,

For then he lost his fear,
But most before approaching show'rs,

Or when a storm drew near.

Eight years and five round rolling moons

He thus saw steal away, Dozing out all his idle noons,

And ev'ry night at play.

I kept him for his humour's sake,

For he would oft beguile My heart of thoughts, that made it ache,

And force me to a smile.

But now beneath this walnut shade

He finds his long last home,
And waits, in snug concealment laid,

Till gentler Puss shall come

He, still more aged, feels the shocks,

From which no care can save, And, partner once of Tiney's box,

Must soon partake his grave.


Hic etiam jacet,
Qui totum novennium vixit,

Siste paulisper,
Qui præteriturus cs,

Et tecum sic reputa-
Hunc neque canis venaticus,
Nec plumbum missile,

Nec laqueus,
Nec imbres nimii,

Confecere :
Tamen mortuus est-

Et moriar ego.

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