14 On her I'll gaze, when others' loves are o'er,
And dying press her with my clay-cold hand--
Thou weep'st already, as I were no more,
Nor can that gentle breast the thought withstand.
15 Oh, when I die, my latest moments spare,
Nor let thy grief with sharper torments kill,
Wound not thy cheeks, nor hurt that flowing hair,
Though I am dead, my soul shall love thee still:
16 Oh, quit the room, oh, quit the deathful bed,
Or thou wilt die, so tender is thy heart;
Oh, leave me, Delia, ere thou see me dead,
These weeping friends will do thy mournful part:
17 Let them, extended on the decent bier,
Convey the corse in melancholy state,
Through all the village spread the tender tear,
While pitying maids our wondrous loves relate.
We may here mention Dr George Sewell, author of a Life of Sir Walter
Haleigh, a few papers in the _Spectator_, and some rather affecting
verses written on consumption, where he says, in reference to his
garden--
'Thy narrow pride, thy fancied green,
(For vanity's in little seen,)
All must be left when death appears,
In spite of wishes, groans, and tears;
Not one of all thy plants that grow,
But rosemary, will with thee go;'--
Sir John Vanbrugh, best known as an architect, but who also wrote
poetry;--Edward Ward (more commonly called Ned Ward), a poetical
publican, who wrote ten thick volumes, chiefly in Hudibrastic verse,
displaying a good deal of coarse cleverness;--Barton Booth, the famous
actor, author of a song which closes thus--
'Love, and his sister fair, the Soul,
Twin-born, from heaven together came;
Love will the universe control,
When dying seasons lose their name.
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