Classic Poem

I.

A H ! No, 'tis all in vain, believe me 'tis,
This Pious Artifice.
Not all these Pray'rs and Alms can buy
One Moment tow'rd Eternity .
Eternity! that boundless Race,
Which Time himself can never run:
(Swift, as he flies, with an unweari'd Pace)
Which, when Ten Thousand, Thousand Years are done,
Is still the same, and still to be begun.
Fix'd are those Limits, which prescribe
A short Extent to the most lasting Breath;
And tho' thou cou'dst for Sacrifice lay down
Millions of other Lives to save thy own,
'Twere fruitless all; not all would bribe
One Supernumerary Gasp from Death.

II.

In vain thy Inexhausted Store
Of Wealth, in vain thy Pow'r;
Thy Honours, Titles, all must fail,
Where Piety itself does nought avail.
The Rich, the Great, the Innocent and Just,
Must all be huddled to the Grave,
With the most Vile and Ignominious Slave,
And undistinguish'd lie in Dust.
In vain, the Fearful, flies Alarms,
In vain, he is secure, from Wounds of Arms.
In vain avoids the Faithless Seas,
And is confin'd to Home and Ease.
Bounding his Knowledge, to extend his Days.
In vain are all those Arts we try,
All our Evasions, and Regret to die:
From the Contagion of Mortality,
No Clime is pure, no Air is free:
And no Retreat
Is so Obscure, as to be hid from Fate.

III.

Thou must, alas! thou must, my Friend;
(The very Hour thou now dost spend
In studying to avoid, brings on thy End)
Thou must forego the dearest Joys of Life;
Leave the warm Bosome of thy tender Wife,
And all the much lov'd Offspring of her Womb,
To moulder in the cold Embraces of a Tomb.
All must be left, and all be lost;
Thy House, whose stately Structure so much cost,
Shall not afford
Room for the stinking Carkass of its Lord.
Of all thy pleasant Gardens, Grots and Bow'rs,
Thy costly Fruits, thy far-fetch'd Plants and Flowe'rs,
Nought shalt thou save;
Unless a Sprig of Rosemary thou have,
To wither with thee in the Grave:
The rest shall live and flourish, to upbraid
Their Transitory Master Dead.

IV.

Then shall thy long-expecting Heir,
A Joyful Mourning wear:
And Riot in the Waste of that Estate
Which thou hast taken so much pains to get,
All thy hid Stores he shall unfold,
And set at large thy Captive Gold.
That precious Wine, condemn'd by thee
To Vaults and Prisons, shall again be free:
Bury'd alive tho' now it lies,
Again shall rise,
Again its sparkling Surface show,
And free as Element, profusely show.
With such high Food he shall set forth his Feasts,
That Cardinals shall wish to be his Guests;
And pamper'd Prelates see
Themselves out-done in Luxury .