But see pale Sickness with her languid Eyes,
At whose Appearance all Delusion flies:
The World recedes, its Vanities decline,
Features seem as faint as mine:
Gay Robes no more the aking Sight admires,
Wit grates the Ear, and melting Musick tires:
Its wonted Pleasures with each Sense decay,
Books please no more, and Paintings fade away:
The sliding Joys in misty Vapours end:
Yet let me still, Ah! let me grasp a Friend:
And when each Joy, when each lov'd Object flies,
Be you the last that leaves my closing Eyes.