Fowle's New Hampshire Gazette And General Advertiser

POET'S CORNER.

The Dying Rake's Soliloquy.

In the fever of youth, ev'ry pulse in a flame
Regardless of fortune, of health, and of fame;
While pleasure my aim, and profusion my pride,
No vice was untasted, no wish was denied.
Grown headstrong and haughty, capricious and vain,
Not decency aw'd me, nor laws could restrain;
The vigils of Comus and Venus I kept,
Tho' tir'd, not sated; in sunshine I slept:
All my appetites pall'd, I no pleasure enjoy'd
Excess made 'em tasteless, their frequency cloy'd
When my health, and my fortune, to riot gave way,
And my parts, and my vigour, felt total decay;
The doctors were sent for, who greedy of fees.
Engag'd that their skill should remove the disease;
With looks most important each symptom was weigh'd,
And the face of prescription full gravely was play'd
Reduc'd by their arts, and quite worn to a lath,
My carcase was sent to the vultures of Bath.
When drench'd and well drain'd by the faculty there,
All the hope that remain'd was to try native air.
Scarce a doit in my purse, or a drop in my veins.
To my old mortgag'd house they convey'd my remains
No friend to assist, no relation to grieve,
And scarcely a bed my bare bones to receive;
With solitude curs'd, and tormented with pain,
Distemper'd my body, distracted my brain.
Thus from folly to vice, and from vice to the grave,
I sink, of my passions the victim and slave.
No longer debauch or companions deceive,
But alarm'd at the vengeance I'd fain disbelieve;
With horrors foreboding, desponding I lie,
Tho' tir'd of living, yet dreading to die.