A PREFACE. A S the Occafion of this Poem was Real, not Fictitious; fo the Method pursued in it, was rather imposed by what spontaneously arose in the Author's Mind, on that Occafion, than meditated or defigned. Which will appear very probable from the Nature of it. For it dif fers from the common Mode of Poetry, which is from long Narrations to draw Short Morals. Here, on the contrary, the Narrative is fhort, and the Morality arifing from it makes the Bulk of the Poem. The Reafon of it is, That the Facts mentioned did naturally pour these moral Reflections on the Thought of the Writer. It is evident from the firft Night, where three Deaths are mentioned, that the Plan is not yet compleated; for two only of those three have yet been fung. But fince the Fourth Night finishes one principal and important Theme, naturally arifing from all Three, viz. the Subduing our Fear of DEATH, it will be a proper Paufing-place A 2 for for the Reader, and the Writer too. And it is uncertain, whether Providence, or Inclination, will permit him to go any farther. I fay, Inclination; for This Thing was entered on purely as a Refuge under Uneafinefs, when more proper Studies wanted fufficient Relifh to detain the Writer's Attention to them. And that Reafon (thanks be to Heaven) ceafing, the Writer has no further Occafion, I shou'd rather say Excufe, for giving in fo much to the Amusements, amid the Duties, of Life. NIGHT the FIRST. ON Life, Death, & Immortality. HUMBLY INSCRIBD To the RIGHT HONOURABLE ARTHUR ONSLOW, Efq; SPEAKER of the Houfe of Commons. Τ' IR'D nature's fweet reftorer, balmy Sleep!! Where Fortune fmiles; the wretched he: Swift on his downy pinion flies from Woe, From fhort (as usual) and disturb'd Repose, A 3 Tumultuous Tumultuous; where my wreck'd, defponding thought At random drove, her helm of Reason loft; The Day too fhort for my diftrefs! and Night, Night, fable Goddefs! from her Ebon throne, Silence, and Darkness! folemn Sifters! Twins Affift me: I will thank you in the Grave; The grave, your Kingdom: There this frame fhall fall But what are Ye? Thou, who didft put to flight O Thou! whofe Word from folid Darkness struck Thro' this Opaque of Nature, and of Soul, Lead Lead it thro' various fcenes of Life and Death, But from its Lofs. Is wife in man. One: We take no note of Time, As if an Angel spoke, I feel the folemn Sound. If heard aright, It is the Knell of my departed Hours; Where are they? with the Years beyond the Flood: How Much is to be done? my Hopes and Fears Poor Penfioner on the bounties of an Hour? How poor? how rich? how abject? how auguft? A Worm! a God! I tremble at myself, Thought A 4 |