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A POEM.
11
"Your Mold firſt came from ſuch a Place as this,
"Again be buried, ere you riſe to Bliſs.
Now Nature calls, and that's a firm Decree,
Then, precious Piece, once more adieu to thee.
Ah! bring a Dram—The ſympathizing Glaſs
Trembles like me, and ſeems to share my Caſe.
Pleaſure farewel, my Guinea I deplore:
VVho would not mourn when he has Gold no more?
O may we meet in more auſpicious Times, | |
When Gold on Gold ſhall ſtrike harmonious Chimes! |
⟨A⟩ ſweeter Sound than ſympathizing Rhimes.
⟨We'll⟩ ſhare the Joys of a more bliſsful State,
And wonder at the various Turns of Fate,
Fortune with Fortune pleaſantly compare,
Experienc'd grow, and feaſt in purer Air.
Theſe Silver ſhillings with leſs Luſtre ſhine
C
Ah!