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The scourge he let fall from his hand,
With blood of his subjects imbrued.
I saw him both sicken and die,
And the moment the monster expir'd Heard shouts that ascended the sky
From thousands with rapture inspir'd.
Awaking, how could I but muse .
At what such a dream should betide?
But soon my ear caught the glad news
my weak thought for a guideThat Britannia, renown'd o'er the waves
For the hatred she ever has shown
To the black-sceptred rulers of slaves,
Resolves to have none of her own.
PRINTED AT THE BOTTOM OF THE
YEARLY BILL OF MORTALITY
OF THE TOWN OF NORTHAMPTON,
Dec. 21, 1787
Pallida Mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas
Pale Death with equal foot strikes wide the door
While thirteen moons saw smoothly run
The Nen's barge-laden wave,
Have found their home-the
Was man (frail always) made more frail
Than in foregoing years?
That so much death appears?
No; these were vigorous as their sires,
Nor plague nor famine came; This annual tribute Death requires,
And never waves his claim.
Like crowded forest-trees we stand,
And some are mark'd to fall;
The axe will smite at God's command,
And soon shall smite us all.
Green as the bay-tree, ever green,
With its new foliage on, The gay, the thoughtless, have I seen;
I pass'd—and they were gone.
Read, ye that run, the awful truth
With which I charge my page;
A worm is in the bud of youth,
No present health can health insure
For yet an hour to come;
Can always balk the tomb.
And oh! that (humble as my lot,
And scorn’d as is my strain *) These truths, though known, too much forgot, I
may not teach in vain.
So prays your Clerk, with all his heart;
And, ere he quits the pen,
And answer all-Amen!
* John Cox, Parish Clerk of Northampton.
FOR THE TOMB OF
Pause here, and think: a monitory rhime
Consult Life's silent clock, thy bounding vein;