Is his familiar wear, and sleek disguise.
Behind the rosy bloom he loves to lurk,
Or ambush in a smile, or wanton dive

In dimples deep; love's eddies, which draw in
Unwary hearts, and sink them in despair.
Such, on NARCISSA's Couch he loiter'd long
Unknown; and, when detected, still was seen
To smile; such peace has innocence in death!
Most happy they! whom least his arts deceive.
One eye on death, and one full fix'd on heav'n,
Becomes a mortal, and immortal man.
Long on his wiles a piqu'd and jealous spy,
I've seen, or dreamt I saw, the tyrant dress s;
Lay by his horrors, and put on his smiles.
Say, muse, for thou remember'st, call it back,
And shew, LORENZO the surprising scene;
If 'twas a dream, his genius can explain.
'Twas in a circle of the gay I stood.

Death would have enter'd; Nature pusht him back;
Supported by a doctor of renown,

His point he gain'd. Then artfully dismist
The sage; for death design'd to be conceal'd.
He gave an old vivacious usurer

His meagre aspect, and his naked bones;
In gratitude for plumping up his

prey,
A pamper'd spendthrift; whose fantastic air,
Well-fashion'd figure, and cockaded brow,
He took in change, and underneath the pride
Of costly linen, tuck'd his filthy shroud.

His crooked bow he straiten'd to a cane;
And hid his deadly shafts in MYRA's eye.

The dreadful masquerader, thus equipt,
Out-sallies on adventures. Ask you where?
Where is he not? For his peculiar haunts,
Let this suffice; sure as night follows day,
Death treads in pleasure's footsteps round the world,
When pleasure treads the paths, which reason shuns.
When, against reason, riot shuts the door,
And gaiety supplies the place of sense,

Then, foremost at the banquet, and the ball,
Death leads the dance, or stamps the deadly die;
Nor ever fails the midnight bowl to crown,
Gaily carousing to his gay compeers,

Inly he laughs, to see them laugh at him,
As absent far: And when the revel burns,
When fear is banisht, and triumphant thought,
Calling for all the joys beneath the moon,
Against him turns the key; and bids him sup
With their progenitors-He drops his mask;
Frowns out at full; they start, despair, expire.

Scarce with more sudden terror and surprize,
From his black masque of nitre, touch'd by fire,
He bursts, expands, roars, blazes, and devours.
And is not this triumphant treachery,

And more than simple conquest, in the fiend?

And now, LORENZO, dost thou wrap thy soul
In soft security, because unknown

Which moment is commission'd to destroy?
In death's uncertainty thy danger lies.

Is death uncertain? Therefore thou be fixt;

Frowns out at full; they start, despair, expire?

London; Pub Jan! 11802. by Vernor & Hood, and the other Proprietors.

Page no.

Fixt as a centinel, all eye, all ear,

All expectation of the coming foe.

Rouse, stand in arms, nor lean against thy spear;
Lest slumber steal one moment o'er thy soul,
And fate surprize thee nodding. Watch, be strong;
Thus give each day the merit, and renown,
Of dying well; tho' doom'd but once to die.
Nor let life's period hidden (as from most)
Hide too from Thee the precious use of life.
Early, not sudden, was NARCISSA's fate.
Soon, not surprising, death his visit paid.
Her thought went forth to meet him on his way,
Nor gaiety forgot it was to die:

Tho' fortune too (our third and final theme),
As an accomplice, play'd her gaudy plumes,
And ev'ry glitt'ring gewgaw, on her sight,
To dazzle, and debauch it from its mark.
Death's dreadful advent is the mark of man;
And ev'ry thought that misses it is blind.
Fortune, with youth and gaiety, conspir'd
To weave a triple wreath of happiness
(If happiness on earth) to crown her brow.
And could death charge thro' such a shining shield?
That shining shield invites the tyrant's spear,

As if to damp our elevated aims,

And strongly preach humility to man.

O how portentous is prosperity!

How, comet like, it threatens, while it shines!
Few years but yield us proofs of death's ambition,
To cull his victims from the fairest fold,