If we will often on him think,
And hold our Friend to be:

Then Fear will from his presence shrink,
A baffled enemy.

We know that Death still waits on Birth,
That Life expects its close,

That the most live-long joy of earth

But for an instant blows.

Count we our Fourscore years and Ten,

And be they all Delight,

Yet, once enjoy'd, they are pass'd-and then
Seem but an arrow's flight.

Ask not, How long, but ask How well,
Has this or that man sped?-
How high his bosom's generous swell
Has kept his valiant head?

Ask, if to deeds of bold intent

When call'd, he came-he ran?

Was he, of all his Regiment,
Ever the foremost man?

Has he, from craft and malice free,
Pursued his straightway path?
Ah no-to him, and such as he
Death nought of terror hath.

-J. H. MERIVALE.

THE COURT OF DEATH.

Death, on a solemn night of state,
In all his pomp of terror sate :
Th' attendants of his gloomy reign,
Diseases dire, a ghastly train!

Crowd the vast court. With hollow tone,
A voice thus thunder'd from the throne:
"This night our minister we name,
Let every servant speak his claim;
Merit shall bear this ebon wand."

All, at the word, stretch'd forth their hand.
Fever, with burning heat possess'd,
Advanced, and for the wand address'd.
"I to the weekly bills appeal,
Let those express my fervent zeal;
On every slight occasion near,

With violence I persevere."

Next gout appears with limping pace, Pleads how he shifts from place to place; From head to foot how swift he flies,

And every joint and sinew plies ;
Still working when he seems suppress'd,
A most tenacious, stubborn guest.

A haggard spectre from the crew
Crawls forth, and thus asserts his due:
""Tis I who taint the sweetest joy,
And in the shape of love destroy :
My shanks, sunk eyes, and noseless face,
Prove my pretention to the place."

Stone urged his over-growing force;
And next consumption's meagre corse,
With feeble voice that scarce was heard,
Broke with short coughs, his suit preferr❜d:
"Let none object my lingering way,
-I gain, like Fabius, by delay;

Fatigue and weaken every foe
By long attack, secure, though slow."
Plague represents his rapid power,
Who thinn'd a nation in an hour.

All spoke their claim, and hoped the wand, Now expectation hush'd the band;

When thus the monarch from the throne :
"Merit was ever modest known.
What, no physician speak his right!
None here! but fees their toils requite!
Let then Intemperance take the wand,
Who fills with gold their zealous hand.
You, Fever, Gout, and all the rest,
(Whom wary men, as foes, detest,)
Forego your claim; no more pretend;
Intemperance is esteem'd a friend;
He shares their mirth, their social joys,
And as a courted guest destroys.
The charge on him must justly fall,
Who finds employment for you all."

-JOHN GAY.

THE THREE WARNINGS.

The tree of deepest root is found,
Least willing still to quit the ground;
'Twas therefore said by ancient sages,
That love of life increas'd with years:
So much, that in our latter stages,

When pains grow sharp, and sickness rages,
The greatest love of life appears.

This great affection to believe,
Which all confess, but few perceive,
If old assertions can't prevail,

Be pleas'd to hear a modern tale.

When sports went round, and all were gay,

On neighbour Dobson's wedding day,

Death call'd aside the jocund groom

With him into another room:

And looking grave,-"You must," says he,

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'Quit your sweet bride and come with me.'
"With you! and quit my Susan's side!
With you!" the hapless husband cried:
"Young as I am; 'tis monstrous hard!
Besides, in truth, I'm not prepar'd:
My thoughts on other matters go,
This is my wedding-night, you know."
What more he urg'd I have not heard:
His reason could not well be stronger;
So Death the poor delinquent spar'd,
And left to live a little longer.
Yet calling up a serious look,

His hour-glass trembled while he spoke—
"Neighbour," he said, "Farewell: no more
Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour;
And farther, to avoid all blame
Of cruelty upon my name,
To give you time for preparation,
And fit you for your future station,
Three several warnings you shall have,
Before you 're summon'd to the grave,
Willing for once I'll quit my prey,
And grant a kind reprieve;

In hopes you'll have no more to say,
But when I call again this way

Well pleas'd the world will leave."
To these conditions both consented,
And parted, perfectly contented.

What next the hero of our tale befel, How long he liv'd, how wise, how well, How roundly he pursued his course,

And smok'd his pipe, and strok'd his horse,

The willing muse shall tell:

He chaffer'd then, he bought, he sold,
Nor once perceiv'd his growing old,
Nor thought of Death as near:

His friends not false, his wife no shrew,
Many his gains, his children few,

He pass'd his hours in peace;

But while he view'd his wealth increase,
While thus along life's dusty road

The beaten track content he trod,

Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares,
Uncall'd, unheeded, unawares,

Brought on his eightieth year.

And now one night in musing mood,

As all alone, he sat,

The unwelcome messenger of fate,
Once more before him stood.

Half killed with anger and surprise,
"So soon returned!" old Dobson cries.
"So soon, d'ye call it!" Death replies:
Surely, my friend, you 're but in jest ;
Since I was here before,

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'Tis six and forty or fifty years at least. And you are now fourscore."

"So much the worse," the clown rejoin'd:

"To spare the aged would be kind:
However, see your search be legal;
And your authority-Is 't regal?
Else you are come on a fool's errand,
With but a secretary's warrant.

Besides, you promis'd me three warnings,

Which I have look'd for nights and mornings.

But, for that loss of time, and ease,

I can recover damages."