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Who meanly stole (discreditable shift,)
From back, and belly too, their proper cheer;
Eas'd of a tax, it irk'd the wretch to pay
To his own carcase; now lies cheaply lodg'd
By clam'rous Appetites no longer teaz'd.
Nor tedous Bills of charges and repairs.
But ah! where are his rents, his comings-in?
Ay! now you've made the rich man poor indeed.
Robb'd of his gods, what has he left behind?
Oh! ⟨cursed⟩ lust of gold; when for thy sake,
The fool throws up his interest in both Worlds:
First starv'd in this, then damn'd in that to come.

How shocking must thy summons be, O Death!
To him that is at ease in his possessions;
Who counting on long years of pleasure here,
Is quite unfurnish'd for that world to come!
In the dread moment, how the frantic Soul
Raves roud the walls of her clay Tenement,
Runs to each avenue, and shrieks for help,
But shrieks in vain!—How wishfully she looks
On all she's leaving, now no longer her's!
A little longer, yet a little longer.
Oh! might she stay, to wash away her stains,
And fit her for her passage.—Mournful sight;
Her very eyes weep blood; and every Groan
She heaves is big with horror.—But the Foe,
Like a staunch murd'rer steady to his purpose,
Pnrsues her close through e'ry lane of Life,
Nor misses once the track, but presses on;
Till forc'd at last to the tremendous Verge,
At once she sinks to everlasting ruin.

Sure 'tis a serious thing to die; My soul,
What a strange moment must it be, when near
Thy Journey's end, thou hast the gulph in view!
That awful gulph, no mortal e'er repass'd
To tell what's doing on the other side.
Nature runs back and shudders at the sight,