Elegy on Mrs. Thompson, An

Unhappy fair, by fatal love betrayed,
Must then thy beauties thus untimely fade,
And all thy bloomy, soft, inspiring charms
Become a prey to Death's destructive Arms?
Tho' short thy day and transient like the Wind,
How far more blessed than those yet left behind!
Safe in the grave with thee thy griefes remain,
And life's tempestuous billows break in Vain.
Ye tender Nymphs in lawless passions gay,
Who heedless down the paths of pleasure stray,
Tho' now secure with blissfull joy elate,
Yet pause, and think of Annabella's [ sic ] fate;
For such may be thy unexpected doom,
And thy next slumber lull thee in the tomb.
But let it be the Muses gentle care
To sheild from envious rage the mouldring fair,
To draw a vail o'er faults she can't commend,
And what prudes half devoured, leave time to end.
Be it her part to pay a pitying tear,
And heave a sigh of sorrow o'er thy beare.
Nor shall thy woes long glad th'illnatured crowd,
Silent in praise and in detraction loud.
For Scandal that thro' life each worth destroys
And malice, that Imbitters all our joys,
Shall in some ill-starr'd wretch find later staines,
And let thine rest forgot, as thy remaines.
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