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De sacris autem hæc sit una sententia, ut conscruentur.-CIC. DE LEG.

But let us all concur in this one sentiment, that things sacred be in violate.

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 comprised,
Is falsely named, and no such thing,

But rather death disguised.
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 diseased, yet nothing seel;

Much menaced, nothing dread ;
Have wounds, which only God can heal,

Yet never ask his aid?

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Who deem his house a useless place,

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

A hypocrite'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, impressid

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

With life that cannot die;
Such want it, and that want, uncured

Till man resigns his breath,
Speaks him a criminal, assured

Of everlasting death.
Sad period to a pleasant course!

Yet so will God repay
Sabbaths profaned 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, oft-times 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 greyhound follow, Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew,

Nor ear heard huntsman's hallo', Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,

Who, nursed with tender care,
And to domestic bounds confined,

Was still a wild Jack-hare.
Though duly from my hand he took

His pittance every night,
He did it with a jealous look,

And, when he could, would bite. 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 regaled,

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

Sliced carrot pleased him well.
A Turkey carpet was his lawn,

Whereon he loved to bound,
To skip and gambol like a fawn,

And swing his rump around.
His frisking was at evening hours,

For then he lost his fear,
But most before approaching showers,

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 every 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 his 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 es,
Et tecum sic reputa:
Hunc neque canis venaticus,
Nec plumbum missile,

Nec laques,
Nec imbres nimii,

Tamen mortuus est

Et moriar ego.

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