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To which is added,
A PARAPHRASE on Part of the Book of JOB.

A New Edition, from one Corrected by the Author.

With the Addition of the Author's Life, by an

Eminent Hand.

Sunt lacrymæ rerum, & mentem mortalia tangunt.


Printed in the Year M.DCC.LXXI.

280, n. 261.

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NIGHT the FIRST, On Life, Death, and Immortality. To the Right Hon. ARTHUR ONSLOW,

Speaker of the House of COMMONS.


VIR’D nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep!

He, like the world, his ready vifit pays,

Where fortune smiles; the wretched he forfakes: Swift on his downy pinions flies from woe, And lights on lids unsully'd with a tear.

From short, (as usual) and disturb'd repose,
I wake : How happy they who wake no more!
Yet that were vain, if dreams infeft the grave,
I wake emerging from a sea of dreams
Tumultuous, where my wreck'd defponding thought
From wave to wave of Fancy'd misery,
Ac random drove, her helm of reason loft:
Tho' now reftor’d, 'tis only change of pain,
(A biccer change:) feverer for severe :
The Day too short for my diftress! and Night,
Even in the Zenith of her dark domain,
Is funshine to the colour of my fate.

Night, fable goddess ! from her Ebon throne,
In rayless majetty, now ftretches forth
Her leaden scepter o'er a slumb'ring world :
Silence, how dead! and darkness, how profound !
Nor eye, nor lift'ning ear an obje&t finds :
Creation sleeps. 'Tis as the general pulse
Of life stood fill, and nature made a pause ;
An ayeful pause! prophetic of her end.

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