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DIDACTIC AND MORAL PIECES.

MY MIDNIGHT MEDITATION.

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LL-bufi'd Man! why should'st thou take such care
To lengthen out thy life's fhort Kalendar?
When ev'ry spectacle thou look'st upon

Prefents and acts thy execution.

Each drooping feafon and each flower doth cry,
"Fool! as I fade and wither, thou must dy."

The beating of thy pulse (when thou art well)
Is just the tolling of thy paffing bell:
Night is thy hearfe, whose fable canopie
Covers alike deceased day and thee.

And all those weeping dewes which nightly fall,
Are but the tears shed for thy funerall.

Dr. King's Poems, p. 138.

VOL. II.

B

TIMES

TIMES GOE BY TURNES.

THE lopped tree in time may grow againe,
Moft naked plants renew both fruite and flower:
The forrieft wight may find release of paine,
The dryest foyle fucke in fome moystning shower,
Times goe by turnes, and chaunces change by courfe,
From foule to faire: from better hap to worle.

The fea of Fortune doth not ever flow,
Shee drawes her favours to the lowest ebbe;
Her tides have equall times to come and goe,
Her loome doth weave the fine and courfest webbe.
No joy fo great, but runneth to an end:
No hap fo hard, but may in fine amend.

Not alwaies fall of leafe, nor ever spring,
No endleffe night, nor yet eternall day :
The faddeft birds a feafon find to fing,
The roughest storme a calme may foon allay.
Thus with fucceeding turnes God tempereth all :
That man may hope to rife, yet feare to fall.

A chaunce

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