Then his fellow-workmen came, With Careless to condole; Who talk’d of former scenes of mirth, To cheer his troubl’d soul. But, ah! when conscience sorely smarts— Whose spirit can endure? When GOD inflicts the mighty wound— What mortal hand can cure? Outstretch’d, his flesh all trembling lies, He heaves a mournful sigh; Attempts to raise his aching head, And ope’ his languid eye. On the companions of his life, He casts a dismal look; And, lab’ring with conflicting thoughts, Thus the sad silence broke:— “Ah! ye do well to see a wretch, Whose peace and health are fled; Ye knew him once in festive scenes, Now on his dying bed. But, O, for ever from my mind Hide ev’ry guilty joy; Oor they’ve polluted all my life, And will my soul destroy. In sickness, pain, decay, and death, What agonies ye bring! All pointed with the envenom’d barb, Of sin’s eternal sting. —But have ye no sweet hope to give? No comfort to supply? Must I still languish and despair, And then—ah! must I die? How can my naked spirit stand Before a righteous GOD? Who, who, shall hide me from his eye, Or shield me from his rod? O what a load of guilt I feel! My anguish who can tell? My sins will shut me out of heav’n, And sink me down to hell. By all the mis’ries which I feel, By all the wrath I dread; By heav’ns just veng’ance soon to fall On my devoted head; I charge you to forsake your sins, And to the SAVIOUR fly: O may he bless you while you live, And save you when you die. But as for me, can mercy come, Call’d for with parting breath?”— He said—and straight his quiv’ring lips, For ever clos’d in death! THE _History of Will Worthy and Nancy Wilmot_. IN vain the living soul may strive For happiness below; This world no solid joy can give, Nor lasting peace bestow. _Will Worthy_ was a sprightly lad As ever trod the mead; He thought no cares could make him sad, While pleasure took the lead. Dex’trous at all the rustic games, He oft his strength display’d, Now the swift race his breast inflames, By emulation sway’d. At every country fair and wake, _Will_ was the wonder there: Fair females crowded for his sake, And strove his smiles to share. Sweet Nancy Wilmot of the vale, Won _William’s_ roving heart; To her he told love’s tender tale, Now nothing could them part. To church they went, the knot was tied, The day was spent in glee; Inviting all to them allied, To join their jollity. The self-same eve, when on the green, _Will_ danc’d with Nance his bride; Lo! what a sad reverse of scene, She fainted—droop’d—and died!!!