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Seest thou the daily light of the greater world? when attained to the highest pitch of meridian glory, it stayeth not; but by the same degrees it ascended, it descendeth. And is the light of the lesser world more permanent? Continuance is the child of eternity, not of time.

EPIG. 13.

To the young man.

Young man, rejoice; and let thy rising days
Chear thy glad heart: think'st thou these uphill ways
Lead to death's dungeon? No; but know withal,
A rising's but a prologue to a fall.

JOHN

JOHN xii. 35.

Yet a little while is the light with you.

1.

HE day grows old, the low-pitch'd lamp hath made
No less than treble shade,

TH

And the descending damp doth now prepare

T'uncurl bright Titan's hair;

Whose western wardrobe now begins t'unfold
Her purples, fring'd with gold,

To cloath his ev'ning glory, when th' alarms
Of rest shall call to rest in restless Thetis' arms.

2.

Nature now calls to supper, to refresh
The spirits of all flesh;

The toiling plowman drives his thirsty teams,
To taste the slipp'ry streams :

The droiling swineherd knocks away, and feasts
His hungry whining guests:

The box-bill ouzel,† and the dappled thrush,
Like hungry rivals, meet at their beloved bush.

3.

And now the cold autumnal dews are seen

To cobweb ey'ry green;

And by the low-shorn rowenst doth appear

The fast declining year :

The sapless branches doff their summer suits,
And wain their winter fruits;

And stormy blasts have forc'd the quaking trees
To wrap their trembling limbs in suits of

*Droiling; i. e. drudging.

mossy

freeze.

t Ouzel; i, e. black bird.

Rowens; i. e. short latter grase,

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Invidiosa Senectus.

Envious Old Age obscures thy feeble Light. And gives Thee Warning of approaching Night.

4.

Our wasted taper now has brought her light
To the next door to night;

Her sprightless flame, grown great with snuff, doth turn
Sad as her neighb'ring urn:

Her slender inch, that yet unspent remains,

Lights but to further pains;

And, in a silent language, bids her guest
Prepare his weary limbs to take eternal rest.

5.

Now careful age hath pitch'd her painful plow
Upon the furrow'd brow;
And snowy blasts of discontented care
Have blanch'd the falling hair :
Suspicious envy, mix'd with jealous spite,
Disturbs his weary night :

He threatens youth with age; and now alas !
He owns not what he is, but vaunts the man he was.

6.

Grey hairs, peruse thy days; and let thy past
Read lectures to thy last :

Those hasty wings, that hurry'd them away,
Will give these days no day :

The constant wheels of nature scorn to tire

Until her works expire:

That blast that nipt thy youth, will ruin thee;

That hand that shook the branch, will quickly strike the

S. CH

[tree.

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