. The English dance of death, from the designs of Thomas Rowlandson;. day,Left Plymouth Sound so trim and without shelter from the storm,And starvd with cold, my heart is warm ;Nor from its course will ever vary,While it can beat, and think on since my evry hope is oer,And I shall see dear Moll no more:Come, Death, and ease me of my pain,Oh plunge me in the stormy main:Hear my last prayer, and be my friend,And let my life and suffrings end. He spoke : and lo ! before him satThe summond Messenger of Fate. Ah ! thou art there; (the Seaman said),I know thee well—but who s afra
. The English dance of death, from the designs of Thomas Rowlandson;. day,Left Plymouth Sound so trim and without shelter from the storm,And starvd with cold, my heart is warm ;Nor from its course will ever vary,While it can beat, and think on since my evry hope is oer,And I shall see dear Moll no more:Come, Death, and ease me of my pain,Oh plunge me in the stormy main:Hear my last prayer, and be my friend,And let my life and suffrings end. He spoke : and lo ! before him satThe summond Messenger of Fate. Ah ! thou art there; (the Seaman said),I know thee well—but who s afraid ?I feard thee not, when, at my gun,I ve seen the mischief thou hast done, 48 ENGLISH DANCE OF DEATH Upon the deck, from helm to prow;And, faith, I do not fear thee now;But yield me to thy friendly power,And welcome this my final hour/—Death wavd his arm:—with furious shock,The billows dashd against the rock;Then, with returning force, they boreThe helpless victims from the shore:There sinking, neath the foaming wave—The Sailors found—the Sailors ENGLISH DANCE OF DEATH 49 THE VIRAGO What is the richest boon in life ?I say, a fond and faithful wife;Whose form is fair, whose tempers cool,Who never wants to play the fool:Who knows, and who performs her duty,Nor thinks, because shes born a beauty,That, from her youth till she grows old,She may both domineer and scold.—O happy he ! whose wedded lifeNeer knew domestic feud or strife;Who, from the partner of his heart,Neer heard the word that could impartA keen reproach, a painful thought;Who, with her marriage portion, broughtA far more precious gem than eerThe neck adorns, or decks the hair;Which shines so bright in all degrees;—The never-failing wish to please. Not so the Fair One of the storyWhich this bold page now lays before 1.—D 50 ENGLISH DANCE OF DEATH Mistress Pengethly was a LadyWho long ago had passd her hey-day:A spoild and only daughter sheOf a proud Dame of Family,Who was, if you woul
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