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I feel my heart new opened. Oh! how wretched

Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours !

There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to,

That sweet aspect of princes, and his ruin,
More pangs and fears, than war or women have;

And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,

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En mots de qualité je lui tins ce language: « Retire toi, coquin, va pourrir loin d'ici,

« Il ne t appartient pas de m'approcher ainsi.”

Nubes obfcurans mentem nunc tollitur, & nunc

Sentio, quàm miser eft, qui regum pendet amore.

Non Bellona ferox tali formidine terret

Gentes, nec mater tali districta dolore,

Quales intùs agit stimulos sub pectore cura

Optatos inter risus, certamque ruinam.

Et gravis eft cafus quando cadit, et cadit exspes

Inftar Luciferi.

DIVESNE, PRISCO NATUS AB INACHO

NIL INTEREST, AN PAUPER ET INFIMA

DE GENTE.

HOR.

SOMNO

OMNO me quondam mortis ludebat imago,

Et videor juxta corpora, corpus iners. Proximus hîc pauper tumulo putrebat eodem,

Me gravis ac movit faftus et ira loqui :« Hinc longè, longè discedas vile cadaver, « Ne tangat, ne me polluat ista lues.”

« Lon

" Coquin!” ce me dit-il, d'une arrogance extreme, « Va chercher les coquins ailleurs, coquin toi-même : «. Ici tous font egaux ; je ne te dois plus rien, « Je suis sur mon Fumier, comme toi sur le tien."

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Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying,
Oh the pain, the bliss of dying !

Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife,

And let me languish into life.

II.

Hark! they whisper; angels say,
« Sister fpirit, come away;”.

What

“ Longiùs hinc abeas ;” retulit vehementius ille

; Tu jam vile lutum, vile cadaver ego.

« Cedere non libet ; exæquat mortalia fatum :

“ Hic mihi tam putrido væ locus, ifte tibi.”

SUB MORTEM, CHRISTIANUS ITA SUAM

ANIMAM ALLOQUITUR.

I.

O

NATE Aammâ fpiritus igneâ,

Cur non caduco corpore profilis ?

Quid quæritans, pavens, et optans,

Limine ftas vagabundus hofpes ?

II.

Quàm dulce, fed quàm difficile, est mori!

Natura, litem desine, desine,

Fruarque vitâ ! jam susurrant

Cælicolæ,“ Soror hùc adefto.”'

III.

What is this absorbs me quite,

Steals my senses, shuts my fight,
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath;
Tell me, my foul, can this be death?

III.

The world recedes, it disappears ;

Heav'n opens to

my eyes ; my ears

With sounds seraphic ring :

Lend, lend your wings, I mount! I Ay! O Death, where is thy victory?

O Grave, where is thy fting ?

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