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Subjoined to the Yearly Bill of Mortality of the
Anno Domini 1787.
Pallida Mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas,
Pale death with equal foot ftrikes wide the door
Of royal halls, and hovels of the poor.
WHILE thirteen moons faw fmoothly run
All thefe, life's rambling journey done,
Was man (frail always) made more frail
Did famine or did plague prevail,
That so much death appears?
No; these were vigorous as their fires,
Nor plague nor famine came;
This annual tribute death requires,
And never waves his claim.
Like crowded foreft-trees we ftand,
Green as the bay-tree, ever green,
The gay, the thoughtless, I have feen,
Read, ye that run, the folemn truth,
No present health can health insure
No medicine, though it often cure,
And Oh! that humble as my lot,
And fcorned as is my ftrain,
These truths, though known, too much forgot,
So prays your clerk with all his heart,
And ere he quits the pen,
Begs you for once to take his part
And anfwer all-Amen!
ON A SIMILAR OCCASION,
FOR THE YEAR 1788.
Quod adest, memento
Componere æquus. Cætera fluminis
Improve the prefent hour, for all befide
COULD I, from heaven infpired, as fure prefage
And item down the victims of the past;
How each would trembling wait the mournful sheet,
Time then would feem more precious than the joys,
Then doubtless many a trifler, on the brink
Ah felf-deceived! Could I prophetic fay
Obferve the dappled forefters, how light
They bound, and airy o'er the funny glade-
Had we their wifdom, fhould we often warned,
Sad wafte! for which no after-thrift atones.
Learn then ye living! by the mouths be taught
And the next opening grave may yawn for you.