What Pen can paint the Sinner in Dispair,
When Heav'n, regardless, will not hear his Pray'r!
Terrors like those, the hopeless Youth opprest,
And fill'd the tortur'd Mansion of his Breast:
Now he submits to Health-destroying Grief,
Bends down beneath he load, nor seeks Relief;
A deadly Pale his youthful Cheeks o'er spread,
Continual Sighs have chas'd from thence the Red,
His langui'd Eyes the chearful Light refuse,
And in pale Fires their former lustre lose.
Scarce will this wanton Age my Tale Believe;
A Constant Youth their Vice wou'd ne'er forgive.
Now Love is grown the Universal Sport,
The Men design to leave, e'er they begin to Court;
Fickle their Nature's, roving their Desire,
In Various Heats, there is no real Fire.
Of old, to one the Passion was Confin'd,
They'd wait an Age to make the Fair one Kind;
Changing's the Mode; a Lover is a Fool,
And to be very Faithful's, to be very Dull.
But to return to our kind faithful Youth,
And all the Wonders of his Love and Truth;
The Mother does with careful Eyes Survey
His Griefs, and finds a sencible Decay;
She trys with all delights, his Soul to Chear,
And when he Sighs, crys out, What ails my Dear?
In vain her fondness, the inquiry Frames,
Guesses in vain, a Thousand things she Names;
Fruitless her Aid, he still the wrack indures,
Beneath the Moon but one  cures;
That deny'd, all other helps are vain,
He only with his Life, can end his Pain;
A languid Sickness makes his Youth a Prey,
And Canker like, eats the fine form a way:
Sons are brib'd to use their Art,
To save this Darling of the Mother's Heart:
Their Cordial Juilps they apply in vain;
They cannot Cool the Heat, nor swage the Pain.
Who can the Sighs, the piercing Woe express,
The Fears which his sad Parents Souls Distress?
His Noble Father cry's, his hopes are gone;
His Name is lost, his Heir, his only Son;
But his great Courage helps his Grief to Bear:
The Lady seems distracted with her Care.
Sorrow no sleep, no balmy peace allows,
And Heav'n she wearies with Incessant Vows;
No Chearful Guest the wonted Mirth Maintains,
But through the House a solemn Sadness Reigns.
too, who did these Woes Create,
In Secret Mourns the Youths unhappy Fate;
Blames the Cross Star that had to Love inclin'd,
And made her cause the ills she ne'er design'd.
Now at a stand are all the learned Tribe,
They find it vain to Visit or Prescribe;
The active Spirits weary of their Course,
And drooping Life appears detain'd by Force:
His Servants all are drown'd in black Dispair,
He only lost in Thought, seems void of Fear;
Reserv'd and cold to his officious Friends,
He chides their Care, their Diligence offends.
When in her turn the Fair  came,
The lovely source of this consuming Flame,
He rear'd his dying Eyes, and faintly said,
Come near, thou too too lovely Charming Maid;
Now see how pale and languishing I lye,
And still remember 'tis for you I dye.
Death, cold as your disdain, comes o'er my Bloom,
And ah! sweet Nimph, in Ages yet to come,
As none in Beauty e'er can rival Thee,
So none in Constancy shall equal me.
Oh cruel Fair! hereafter prove so Just,
When I am lost, forgotten in the Dust,
To all the list'ning Swains my Story tell,
Proclaim how much I Lov'd, how early Fell:
No other way, I'd Court a lasting Fame,
But as Loves Victim Eternize my Name.
Yes Goddess, the bright tract I have in View,
Is that the World may say I dy'd for you.
At this the Tears fell from her Conquering Eyes,
And Sighs uncall'd from her fair Bosom Rise;
The fainting Youth beheld the blushing Maid,
And to his trembling Lips her hand convey'd.
Enough, my first, my everlasting Dear,
I dye content, since I am worth a Tear.
He said no more, The approaching Friends might spair
Their useless aid, for all the help was there.
Amongst  Sons that crouded there
One to his Skill added peculiar Care,
Resolves, if Art will do't, to save th' important Heir.
Upon his Life he saw their hopes Depend,
Nor unconcern'd, heard ev'ry Mourning Friend;
Tho' some unmov'd, can see the Parents Cry,
Lamenting Wife, or Friend stand sighing by,
And gravely Answer,
When they, perhaps, have hasten'd Natures Date,
And lay their own Mistake, on guiltless Fate:
But this, with utmost care, consulted Health,
Like Generous  aim'd not alone at wealth;
The Mean, the Great, his equal influence find,
As sent by Heav'n, to heal and bless Mankind.
In him the Graces with the Arts combin'd,
Like Poetry and Wealth, but seldom Joyn'd,
Yet here they Triumph all, while he with Ease,
Can Charm, Relieve, and Conquer a Disease;
A Stranger to the New Phantastick way,
Which dresses first, and bids the Dying stay,
He weigh'd each C rcumstance e'er gave his Vote,
Took not the common way, and kill'd by Rote;
And by his nice Observances, could find
The Body strugling with a tortur'd Mind.
Healthful, reluctant to th' imperial Sway,
Contending still, unwilling to obey:
No Hective Feaver lodg'd within his Blood,
The sullen Soul deny'd the Body Food,
And Sighs and Sorrow robb'd his Eyes of Rest,
He sooths the Griefs which his sad mind opprest.
Seeing him thus resolvd, the ill t' Indure,
And that he neither strove, nor wish'd a Cure,
The only care must be to search the Wound,
There's no Receit has pow'r, till that be found:
He waits and watches the slow passing Sand,
Tho' bid retire, he minds not the Command;
But still observes and grasps his feeble Hand.
The Pulse was low as at th' Ebb of Life,
And weaken'd Nature scarce maintain'd the strife.