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IV. There's a day haft’ning ('t is an awful day!) When the Great Sov'reign shall at large review 30 All that we speak and all we do, The sev'ral parts we act on this wide stage of clay : These he approves and those he blames, And crowns perhaps a porter and a prince he damns. O if the Judge from his tremendous feat
Till Envy shoots and Fame receives the wound,
To John Hartopp, Esq. now Sir John Hartopp, Bart.
The disdain, 1700.
To Mitio, my friend.
An epiftle. Forgive me, Mitio, that there should be any mortifying lines in the following poems inscribed to you fo soon after your entrance into that state which was designed for the completest happiness on earth; but you will quickly discover that the Muse in the firft poem only represents the fhades and dark colours that melancholy throws upon love and the social life; in the second perhaps she indulges her own bright ideas a little; yet if the accounts are but well balanced at last, and things set in a due light, I hope there is no ground for censure. Here you will find an attempt made to talk of one of the most important concerns of human nature in verse, and that with a solemnity becoming the argument. I have banished grimace and ridicule, that persons of the most serious character may
read without offence. What was written several years ago to yourself is now permitted to entertain the world; but you may assume it to yourself as a private entertainment still while you lie concealed behind a feigned name.
The mourning-piece. Life's a long tragedy; this globe the stage, Well fix'd and well adorn'd with Atrong machines,
Gay fields, and skies, and seas; the actors many,
Dianthe acts her little part alone,
15 'My sister, once my friend, (Dianthe cries) “ How much art thou expos’d! thy growing soul “ Doubled in wedlock, multiply'd in children, - Stands but the broader mark for all the mifchicks “That rove promiscuous o'er the mortal stage. “ Children! those dear young limbs, those tend'rest “Of your own flesh, those little other felves, (pieces “ How they dilate the heart to wide dimensions, “And foften ev'ry fibre to improve “ The mother's fad capacity of pain!
25 “ I mourn Fidelio too, tho' Heav’n has chose " A fav'rite mate for him, of all her sex “ The pride and flow'r: how bless’d the lovely pair “ Beyond expression, if well-mingled loves “And woes well-mingled could improve our bliss! 30