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A Noon-tide Shadow, and a Mid-night Dream
Are Emblems, which with Semblance apt proclaim
Our Earthly Course: But, O my Soul! so fast
Must Life run off; and Death for ever last?

This dark Opinion, sure, is too confin'd:
Else whence this Hope, and Terror of the Mind!
Does Something still, and Somewhere yet remain,
Reward or Punishment, Delight or Pain?
Say: shall our Relicks second Birth receive?
Sleep We to wake, and only dye to live?
When the sad Wife has clos'd her Husband's Eyes,
And pierc'd the Echoing Vault with doleful Cries;
Lyes the pale Corps nor yet entirely Dead,
The Spirit only from the Body fled,
The grosser Part of Heat and Motion void,
To be by Fire, or Worm, or Time destroy'd;
The Soul, immortal Substance, to remain,
Conscious of Joy, and capable of Pain?
And if Her Acts have been directed well,
While with her friendly Clay She deign'd to dwell;
Shall She with Safety reach her pristine Seat,
Find her Rest endless, and her Bliss compleat:
And while the buried Man We idly mourn;

H Do

Cælicolæ læti excipiunt, plauduntque reverso?
Sin sese scelerum maculis & crimine multo
Polluerit, superisne tremens depellitur oris
Perpetuam in noctem, loca tetra; ibicogitur ævum
tomortale pati, æternos sentire dolores?

Nos adeo, angusto trepidantes limite terræ, Fluctibus oppositis geminum circumfiuit æquor: Flectimus hinc atque inde oculos; dolor opprimit inde, Imminet hinc timor: & vario dum volvimur æstu Præcipites, flemusque peracta, futura timemus,

Præsens sollicito disperditur hora tumultu.

. • . . . r. •

Pectore sic varias inter fluitante procetlas, Dum Spes ægra cadit, Ratioque incerta vacillat; En (iterum dixi) quid Vis ilia impigra, quæram, Quid trepidans agilisque, Animam quem dicimus, Ignis? Quo more exercet sese? queis clauditur oris? Nosne illam imperio premimus, srænisque tenemus? Unde ideo hæc nostram rumpunt Incommoda pacem? Usque sequi pacem contendimus, usque dolorem Ausugere: utrinque heu! studio exercemur inani:

Dum:

Do Angels joy to fee His better Half return?
But if She has deform'd this Earthly Life
With murd'rous Rapine, and seditious Strife;
Amaz'd, repuls'd, and by those Angels driv'n
From the Ætherial Seat, and blissful Heav'n,
In everlasting Darkness must She lye,
Still more unhappy, that She cannot dye?

Amid Two Seas on One small Point of Land
Weary'd, uncertain, and amaz'd We stand:
On either Side our Thoughts incessant turn:
Forward We dread; and looking back We mourn.
Losing the Present in this dubious Hast;
And lost Our selves betwixt the Future, and the Past.

These cruel Doubts contending in my Breast, My Reason stagg'ring, and my Hopes oppress'd, Once more I said: once more I will enquire, What is this little, agile, pervious Fire, This flutt'ring Motion, which We call the Miry!? How does She act? and where is She confin'd? Have We the Pow'r to guide Her, as We please? Whence then those Evils, that obstruct our Ease? We Happiness pursue; We fly from Pain; Yet the Pursuit, and yet the Flight is vain: And,

Dumque diem Natura velit traducere molles
Inter delicias, & noctem fallere fomno;
Fortior interea opponens mala certa Potestas
Arbitrium eludit fragile, arrectamque premit spem
Omniaque ostendit, nobis licet usque videntur
Libera, præscripta fatorum lege teneri.

Ilia igitur menti humanæ dominata Potestas,
Num gemitus audit miseros, precibusque movetur
Num votis venerata piis & thuris honore,
Avertet curas, decretaque jura resolvet?
Fortior addat opem Pietas Ratione labanti,
Thureaque invalidas com pen sent munera vires:
Et doceant taciti veneranda silentia templi,
Garrula quod nequeunt Sapientum rostra, dolores
Quo pacto licet aut fugere, aut superare ferendo.

Quid nostra in melius poterit convertere fata? Ut palans tenebris fortisque incerta futuræ Anxia mens trepidat, Nihil inter & Infinitum Dum pendens diverse fluit, densaque laborat Ambage implicita, & dubiis conceptibus impar! Solum Hoc scire datur, luctus fubsidere, spemque Surgere, quo faveat magis Indulgentia Cceli.

And, while poor Nature labors to be blest,
By Day with Pleasure, and by Night with Rest;
Some stronger Pow r eludes our sickly Will;
Dashes our rising Hopes with certain Ist;* -
And makes Us with reflective Trouble fee,
That all is destin'd, which We fancy free.

That Pow'r superior then, which rules our Mind,
Is His Decree by Human Pray'r inclin'd?
Will He for Sacrifice our Sorrows ease?
And can our Tears reverse His firm Decrees?
Then let Religion aid, where Reason fails:
Throw Loads of Incense in to turn the Scales;
And let the silent Sanctuary show, 1
What from the babling Schools We may not know, >
How Man may shun, or bear his destin'd Part of Woe. j

What shall amend, or what absolve our Fate? r Anxious We hover in a mediate State, Betwixt Infinity and Nothing; Bounds, . Or boundless Terms, whose doubtful Sense confounds Unequal Thought; whilst All We apprehend, T Is, that our Hopes must rise, our Sorrows end; > As our Creator deigns to be our Friend. J

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