Classic Poem

And so with Look inquisitive you muse
On the cold Earth that close invirons me,
Pleas'd that thyself art free—but ah! how long
Who knows, when he who rais'd thee into Being,
May check his mighty Voice—his Voice, thy Frame
Solely supporting, and permit the Dust
Again into its moulder'd State to drop!
Yet not for ought that Pow'r Almighty can,
Or human Imbecillity can not,
Doth the Fool-wicked stop his wild Career,
But boldly impious pushes still his Course,
'Till Death, the last dread Monitor intrudes.
Away, Repent, and be for ever wise.