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“But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,
And well my life shall pay:
And stretch ine where he lay.
"And there, forlorn, despairing, hid,
I'll lay me down and die: 'Twas so for me that Edwin did,
And so for him will I.”
“Forbid it, Heaven!” the Hermit cry'd,
And clasp'd her to his breast: The wondering fair one turn'd to chide,
'Twas Edwin's self that prest.
“Turn, Angelina, ever dear,
My charmer, turn to see
Restor'd to love and thee.
“Thus let me hold thee to my heart,
And ev'ry care resign ;
My life--my all that's mine?
"No, never from this hour to part,
We'll live and love so true; The sigh that rends thy constant heart,
Shall break thy Edwin's too."
The tree of deepest root is found Least willing still to quit the ground; 'Twas therefore said, by ancient sages,
That love of life increas'd with years So much, that in our latter stages, When pains grow sharp, and sickness rages,
The greatest love of life appears.
This great affection to believe,
When sports went round, and all were gay,
What more he urg'd I have not heard, His reasons could not well be stronger;
So Death the poor delinquent spar’d,
And grant a kind reprieve:
Well pleas'd the world will leave."
What next the hero of our tale befel,
The willing Muse shall tell:
Nor thought of Death as near; His friends not false, his wife no shrew, Many his gains, his children few,
He pass’d his hours in peace: But while he view'd his wealth increase, While thus along Life's dusty road The beaten track content he trod, Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares, Uncall’d, unheeded, unawares,
Brought on his eightieth year.
And now, one night, in musing mood, As all alone he sate, Th’unwelcome messenger of Fate
Once more before him stood.
Half kill'd with anger and surprise, “So soon return’d !" old Dobson cries. “So soon, d'ye call it !” Death replies: "Surely, my friend, you're but in jest;
Since I was here before, *Tis six-and-thirty years at least,
And you are now fourscore.” “So much the worse the clown rejoin'd: To spare the aged would be kind: . However, see your search be legal; And your authority-is't regal? Else you are come on a fool's errand, With but a secretary's warrant.
Besides you promis'd me Three Warnings,
“I know," cries Death, “ that at the best,
“Hold,” says the farmer, “not so fast, I have been lame this four years past.”
“And no great wonder,” Death replies; “ However, you still keep your eyes; And sure, to see one's loves and friends, For legs and arms would make amends."
"Perhaps,” says Dobson, “ so it might, But latterly I've lost my sight.”
“ This is a shocking story 'faith; Yet there's some comfort still,” says Death: “Each strives your sadness to amuse,
I warrant you hear all the news.” · "There's none,” cries he; "and if there were,
I'm grown so deaf, I could not hear.”
"These are unjustifiable yearnings; If you are Lame, and Deaf, and Blind,
You've had your Three sufficient Warnings.