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Some high affurance hath poffeft my mind,
After my death an happier life to find.
Unless our fouls from the immortals came,
What end have we to seek immortal fame ?
All virtuous fpirits some fuch hope attends,
Therefore the wife his days with pleasure ends.
The foolish and short-fighted die with fear,
That they go no where, or they know not where.
The wife and virtuous foul, with clearer eyes,
Before the parts, fome happy port defcries.
My friends, your fathers I fhall furely fee;
Nor only those I lov'd, or who lov'd me;
But fuch as before ours did end their days;
Of whom we hear, and read, and write their praise.
This I believe: for were I on my way,

None fhould perfuade me to return, or stay:
Should fome god tell me, that I should be born,
And cry again, his offer I would fcorn;
Afham'd, when I have ended well my race,
To be led back to my first starting-place.
And fince with life we are more griev'd than joy'd,
We should be either fatisfy'd or cloy'd:
Yet will I not my length of days deplore,
As many wife and learn'd have done before;
Nor can I think fuch life in vain is lent,

Which for our country and our friends is spent.
Hence from an inn, not from my home I pafs,
Since nature meant us here no dwelling-place.
Happy when I, from this turmoil fet free,
That peaceful and divine assembly fee:

Not

Not only those I nam'd I there fhall greet,
But my own gallant, virtuous Cato meet.
Nor did I weep, when I to afhes turn'd
His belov'd body, who fhould mine have burn'd.
I in my thoughts beheld his foul ascend,
Where his fixt hopes our interview attend :
Then ceafe to wonder that I feel no grief
From age, which is of my delights the chief.
My hopes, if this affurance hath deceiv'd,
(That I man's foul immortal have believ'd)

And if I err, no power fhall difpoffefs
My thoughts of that expected happiness.
Though fome minute philofophers pretend,
That with our days our pains and pleasures end.
If it be fo, I hold the fafer fide,

For none of them my error fhall deride.
And if hereafter no rewards appear,

Yet virtue hath itself rewarded here,
If thofe, who this opinion have defpis'd,
And their whole life to pleafure facrific'd,
Should feel their error, they, when undeceiv'd,
Too late will wish, that me they had believ'd.
If fouls no immortality obtain,

'Tis fit our bodies fhould be out of pain.
The fame uneafinefs which every thing

Gives to our nature, life muft alfo bring.
Good acts, if long, feem tedious; fo is age,
Acting too long upon this earth her stage.
Thus much for age, to which when you arrive,
That joy to you, which it gives me, 'twill give.

CON

A Second Western Wonder

News from Colchester; or, a proper new Ballad

A Song

On Mr. John Fletcher's Works

65

67

70

71

To Sir Richard Fanshaw, upon his Translation of Paftor Fido

72

A Dialogue between Sir John Pooley and Mr. Thomas Killigrew

74

An occafional Imitation of a modern Author upon the Game of Chefs

The Paffion of Dido for Æneas

Of Prudence

Of Juftice

The Progrefs of Learning

Cato Major of Old Age. A Poem

77

78

87

97

102 110

POEMS

POE M S

BY

DR. THOMAS SPRAT,

BISHOP OF ROCHESTER.

L

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