Life grows insipid and its pleasures flat; He had indulged in all that man can have, 180 He did not drop a dotard to his grave; Still to the last, his feet upon the chair, With rattling lungs now gone beyond repair; When on each feature death had fix'd his stamp, And not a doctor could the body vamp; Still at the last, to his beloved bowl He clung, and cheer'd the sadness of his soul; For, though a man may not have much to fear, Yet death looks ugly, when the view is near. --'I go,' he said, 'but still my friends shall say, 190 'Twas as a man--I did not sneak away; An honest life with worthy souls I've spent-- Come, fill my glass;'--he took it, and he went.-- "Poor Dolly Murrey!--I might live to see My hundredth year, but no such lass as she. Easy by nature, in her humour gay, She chose her comforts, ratafia and play: She loved the social game, the decent glass; And was a jovial, friendly, laughing lass. We sat not then at Whist demure and still, 200 But pass'd the pleasant hours at gay Quadrille; Lame in her side, we placed her in her seat, Her hands were free, she cared not for her feet; As the game ended, came the glass around, (So was the loser cheer'd, the winner crown'd.) Mistress of secrets, both the young and old In her confided--not a tale she told; Love never made impression on her mind, She held him weak, and all his captives blind; She suffered no man her free soul to vex, 210 Free from the weakness of her gentle sex; One with whom ours unmoved conversing sate, In cool discussion or in free debate. "Once in her chair we'd placed the good old lass, Where first she took her preparation glass; By lucky thought she'd been that day at prayers, And long before had fix'd her small affairs; So all was easy--on her cards she cast A smiling look; I saw the thought that pass'd: 'A king,' she call'd;--though conscious of her skill, 220 'Do more,' I answer'd--'More?' she said; 'I will;' And more she did--cards answer'd to her call, She saw the mighty to her mightier fall: 'A vole! a vole!' she cried, ''tis fairly won, My game is ended and my work is done.'-- This said, she gently, with a single sigh, Died as one taught and practised how to die. "Such were the dead-departed; I survive, To breathe in pain among the dead-alive." The bell then call'd these ancient men to pray; 230 } "Again!" said Benbow--"tolls it every day? } Where is the life I led?"--He sigh'd, and walk'd his way. } LETTER XVII. _THE HOSPITAL AND GOVERNORS._ Blessed be the man [that] provideth for the sick and needy: the Lord shall deliver him in [the] time of trouble. [Communion Service, [Ps. xli. v. Prayer Book Version].] Quas dederis, solas semper habebis opes.