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By letting out their perſons by the hours
To mimid ſorrow, when the heart's not ſad
How rich the trappings! now they're all unfurl'd,
And glittering in the ſun ——triumphant entries
Or Conquerors, and Coronation-pomps,
In glory ſcarce exceed. ——Great gluts of people
Retard th' unwieldy ſhow; whilſt from the caſements
And houses top, ranks behind ranks cloſe wedg'd,
Hang bellying o'er ——But tell us, why this waſte?
Why this ado in earthing up a Carcaſe
That's fall'n into diſgrace, and in the noſtril
Smells horrible? ——Ye undertakers tell us,
'Midſt all the gorgeous figures you exhibit,
Why is the principal conceal'd, for which
You make this mighty ſtir? ——’Tis wiſely done;
What would offend the eye in a good picture,
The painter caſts diſcreetly into ſhades.
Proud Lineage, now how little thou appear'ſt
Below the envy of the private man!
Honour, that middleſome efficious ill,
Purſues thee ev'n to death ——nor there ſtops ſhort.
Strange, perſecution when the grave itſelf
Is no protection from rude ſuſſrance.
Absurd to think to over-reach the Grave,
And from the wreck of names to reſcue ours.
The best concerted ſchemes men lay for fame;
Die fast away ——only themselves die faſter!
The far-fam'd Sculptor, and the laurell'd Bard,
Those bold enſurancers of deathleſs fame,
Supply their little feeble aids in vain.
The tapering Pyramid, the Egyptian's pride,
And wonder of the world, whose ſpiky top
Has wounded the thick cloud, and long outliv'd
The angry ſhaking of the winter's ſtorm;
Yet ſpent at laſt by th' injuries of heaven,
Shatter'd with age, and furrow'd o'er with years,
