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Now let us fing-Long live the king,

And Gilpin, long live he;
And, when he next doth ride abroad,

May I be there to see!

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STANZ AS,

SUBJOINED TO A BILL OF MORTALITT

FOR
THE PARISH OF ALL-SAINTS,
IN THE TOWN OF NORTHAMPTON.

Anno Domini 1787. '

Pallida Mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas,
Regumque turres.

HORACE.
Pale Death, with equal foot strikes wide the door
Of royal Halls and hovels of the Poor.

While thirteen moons faw smoothly run

The Nen's barge-laden wave,
All these, Life’s rambling journey done,

Have found their home,--the Grave.

Was Man, (frail always) made more frail

Than in foregoing years?
Did Famine or did Plague prevail,
That so much deathe appears ?

No.-These were vig'rous as their fres.

Nor Plague nor Famiae came ; This annual tribute Death requires,

And never waves his claim.

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Read, ye that run! the solemn truth

With which I charge my page ; A Worm is in the Bud of Youth,

And at the Root of Age.

No present Health can Health infure

Forget an hour to come ;
No med'cine though it often cure,

Can always baulk the tomb.

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So prays your Clerk with all his heart,

And ere he quits the pen,
Begs you for once to take his part

And answer all-Amen!

1788.

Quod adest, memento
Componere æquus; cætera fluminis
Ritu ferunter.
Improve the present Hour, for all beside
Is a mere Feather on a Torrent's Tide.

HORACE.

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How each would trembling wait the mournful Sheets
On which the Press might stamp him next to die;
And, reading here his Sentence, how replete
With anxious meaning, Heav'n ward turn his Eye!

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