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Nature runs back, and ſhudders at the ſight!
And ev'ry life-ſtring bleeds at thought of parting!
For part they muſt ——body and ſoul muſt part!
Fond couple! ——link'd more cloſe than wedded pair.
This, wings its way to its almighty Source,
The Witneſs of its actions, now its Judge!
That, drops into the dark and noiſome Grave,
Like a diſabled pitcher, of no uſe.
If Death was nothing, and nought after death;
If when men dy'd, at once they ceaſ'd to be,
Returning to the barren womb of Nothing,
Whence firſt they ſprung; then might the Debauchee
Untrembling mouth the Heavens. ——Then might the
Drunkard
Reel over his full bowl ——and when 'tis drain'd,
Fill up another to the brim, and laugh
At the poor bugbear Death ——Then might the wretch
That's weary of the world, and tir'd of life,
At once give each inquietude the flip,
By ſtealing out of being when he pleaſed,
And by what way ——whether by hemp or ſteel.
Death's thouſand doors ſtand open. ——Who could force
The ill-pleaſ'd gueſt to fit out his full time,
Or blame him if he goes? ——Surely he does well
That helps himſelf, as timely as he can,
When able. ——But if there's an Hereafter,
And that there is, Conſcience, uninfluenc'd
And ſuffer'd to ſpeak out, tells ev'ry man;
Then muſt it be an awful thing to die!
More horrid yet, to die by one's own hand!
Self-murder ! ——name it not our iſlands ſhame——
That makes her the reproach of neighbouring ſtates,
Shall Nature, ſwerving from her earlieſt dictate,
Self-preſervation, fall by her own act?
Forbid it, Heaven! ——Let not, upon diſguſt,
The ſhameleſs hand be fouly crimſon'd o'er
With blood of its own lord. ——Dreadful attempt!
