That covet Dangers, and ride Poſt to die,
To live in Air, and WALK in Memory;
Vain Fame with high Fermented Vapour hot,
To be remember'd, ſtrives to be forgot.
Wrap'd in his Jeſt, the bubbl'd Heroe dies,
Immortalizd in Mortal Memories,
Fill's up a Ballad, made too great in Rhime,
Is fabl'd into Tale, and dies again by Time.
And this for nothing, but to have it known,
He dy'd an ASS of very great Renown,
A forward Coxcomb, who in haſte to dy,
Fought for he car'd not who, nor car'd not why.
One juſt Excuſe indeed ſome few may give,
That die, becauſe they can't tell how to live:
Theſe ſhall in Pity 'ſcape our Cenſure here,
So Cowards dare not live, and hang themſelves for Fear.
He's truly brave that Fights in Juſt Defence{{brace2
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Of Virtue preſſ'd, of injur'd Innocence,
Himſelf, the Laws, his Neighbour, or his Prince;
Dares all the lawful Call's of Fate obey,
No Danger will decline, no Truſt betray;
While he that heal's his Tortures in the War,
Own's he's a Coward, and only fights for Fear:
As for the Sport of Fighting, that's a Jeſt,
They talk of moſt, that underſtand it leaſt.
Buda reduc'd, and Gallantry laid by,
