Life and death .. . sharp work I ve had of late, I trowâ Important Doings, both with high and low; The rich, the proud, the humble, and the poor, The learned sage, and the unletterd boor, Have all succumbdâand so must thousands more. Why, bless me, how you start! how pale you look! You tremble, eh, lest you be brought to book? Nay, do not fear! I now come but to speakâ Perhaps on business I may call next week:â Next weeks too soon, you say?âwell, then, I 11 give A further respite, if you needs must live A little longer in this world of sorrowâ But, stayâI 11 think again of this to-morrow; For
Life and death .. . sharp work I ve had of late, I trowâ Important Doings, both with high and low; The rich, the proud, the humble, and the poor, The learned sage, and the unletterd boor, Have all succumbdâand so must thousands more. Why, bless me, how you start! how pale you look! You tremble, eh, lest you be brought to book? Nay, do not fear! I now come but to speakâ Perhaps on business I may call next week:â Next weeks too soon, you say?âwell, then, I 11 give A further respite, if you needs must live A little longer in this world of sorrowâ But, stayâI 11 think again of this to-morrow; For strange, aye, passing strange, it doth appear, That you, so often as you ve calld me here, Should, now I m really come, shrink back thro fear. What if the tragi-comedy of Life Be ended, with its ever-shifting strife Of pain and want, of trouble and alarm, Of passions tumultâpleasures fitful harmâ Can that be cause for griefâthat make you moan? Short-sighted mortals! you should clapânot groan ;. .ILENT LECTL A LECTURE. 479 Yesâwere you wise, my presence you would hail;And not, like dolts, your hapless fate bewail:Instead of sitting there, to sob and sigh,Your plaudits, long and loud, would rend the sky,And Bravo,-Death! bravissimo! youd cry. I know that all some grand excuse may plead,Some worldly reason, or some urgent need,For tarrying longer on this earthly ball:âIndeed, there s nothing new in that, at has not yet an ample fortune made;Another wishes just to change his trade;A third protests his death is not expedient;A fourth declares the time is inconvenient.â 0 what a scene of shuffling, shifting, shirking!What paltry liesâwhat quibbling, and what quirking! The Soldier hopes, when fools and tyrants quarrel,To grace his brows with never-fading laurel;And begs Ill let him win some noble prize,Before he sheathes his sword, and prostrate , madman! thy career of blood is oer;No longer shalt thou dip thy hands in gore,No longer fulminate the martial
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, booksubjecthygiene, booksubjectm
