When I am number'd with the dead,
And all my pious gifts are read,

By heav's and earth 'twill then be known
My charities were amply shown.

An Angel came. Ah friend, he cry'd,
No more in flatt'ring hope confide.
Can thy good deeds in former times
Outweigh the ballance of thy crimes?
What widow or what orphan prays
To crown thy life with length of days?
A pious action's in thy power,
Embrace with joy the happy hour;
Now, while you draw the vital air,
Prove your intention is fincere:

This inftant give a hundred pound;
Your neighbours want, and you abound.

But why such haste, the fick Man whines,
Who knows as yet what Heav'n designs?

Perhaps

Perhaps I may recover ftill.

That fum and more are in my will.

Fool, fays the Vision, now 'tis plain,

Your life, your foul, your heav'n was gain;
From ev'ry fide, with all your might,
You scrap'd, and fcrap'd beyond your right,
And after death would fain attone,

By giving what is not your own.

While there is life, there's hope, he cry'd; Then why such hafte? fo groan'd and dy’d.

FABLE

W. Kent inv.

P.Fourdinier scul..

FABLE XXVIII.

The PERSIAN, the SUN and the CLOUD.

S there a bard whom genius fires,

I

Whose ev'ry thought the God infpires?

When Envy reads the nervous lines,

She frets, the rails, fhe raves, the pines,
I

Her

Her hiffing fnakes with venom fwell,

She calls her venal train from hell,

The fervile fiends her nod obey,

And all Curl's authors are in pay.
Fame calls up calumny and spite.
Thus fhadow owes its birth to light.

As proftrate to the God of day With heart devout a Perfian lay; His invocation thus begun.

Parent of light, all-seeing Sun, Prolific beam, whofe rays dispense The various gifts of Providence, Accept our praife, our daily prayer, Smile on our fields and blefs the year.

A Cloud, who mock'd his grateful tongue, The day with fudden darkness hung,

With pride and envy fwell'd, aloud

A voice thus thunder'd from the cloud.

Weak is this gawdy God of thine,
Whom I at will forbid to fhine;
Shall I nor vows, nor incenfe know?
Where praise is due the praise beltow.
With fervent zeal the Perfian mov'd
Thus the proud calumny reprov'd.

It was that God, who claims my prayer,
Who gave thee birth and rais'd thee there:
When o'er his beams the veil is thrown

Thy substance is but plainer shown.
A pafling gale, a puff of wind

Dispells thy thickest troops combin'd.
The gale arofe; the vapor toft

(The sport of winds) in air was loft;
The glorious orb the day refines.

Thus Envy breaks, thus Merit fhines.