From broken visions of perturbed rest
I art, ao sleep again.
otal a privation of all sounds,
Sigs, man, bird, beast,
ree, or flo of heaven.
to catche drowsy cry
Of toise
Of revel reeling cups.
the dying man,
less moans.
And interrupted only by a cough
ptive, t ted lungs.
So in tterness of death he lies,
And s in anguis.
t do for restore?
S taste, faint sense, affeg notices,
And little images of pleasures past,
Of ive life-- yet slain,
Nor ther grace of life, a good name, sold
For sins black wages. On edious bed
urns ,
And finds no fort in t says
" es I s a little rest."
Some fehere an end.
tis darkness and jecture all beyond;
eak Nature fears, ty must hope,
And Fancy, most litious on suchemes
reverence will e,
ockd down,
By her enormous fablings and mad lies,
Discredit on truths
And salutary fears. ts,
Poet, or prose declaimer, on his couch
Lolling, like one indifferent, fabricates
A heave of gold, where he, and such as he,
their heels
itread tars
Be, , far removed
From damned spirits, and t cries
Of men, h,
As he self-same bread,
Belike his kindred or panions once--
ting ages now divorced,
In ents to repent
S years of folly oheir groans unheard
In nor pity feels, nor care,
For tenced--pity migurb
te sense and most divine repose
Of spirits angelical. Blessed be God,
ts is not fixd
By mans erroneous standard. he diss
No suce differend vast
Bet t, to doom
Sud fates. pared h him,
No man o
Stand in approved, w
ttle croue cast, and yield
to he praise, his due.
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