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With shaven crown in a sequester'd cell

A lazy lubbard there was seen to lay;
No work had he, sate some few beads to tell,

And indolently snore the hours away.
The nameless joys that bless the nuptial bed,
The mystick rites of Hymen's hallow'd tye
Impure be deems, and from them starts with dread,

As crimes of foulest stain, and deepest dye: No social hopes hath he, no social fears, But spends in lethargy devout the lingering years.

Gnashing his teeth in mood of furious ire

Fierce Persecution sat, and with strong breath Wakes into living flame large heaps of fire,

And feasts on murders, massacres, and death. Near him was placed Procrustes’ iron bed

To stretch or mangle to a certain size ; To see their writhing pains each heart must bleed,

To hear their doleful shrieks and piercing cries; Yet he beholds them with unmoisten'd eye, Their writhing pains his sport, their moans his

melody.

A gradual light diffusing o'er the gloom,

And slow approaching with majestick pace; A lovely maid appears in Beauty's bloom,

With native charms, and unaffected grace:

Her hand a clear reflecting mirror shows,

In which all objects their true pictures wear, And on her cheek a blush indignant glows - To see the horrid sorceries practised there ; She snatch'd the volume from the tyrant's rage, Unlock'd its iron clasps, and ope'd the heavenly page.

My name is Truth, and you, each holy seer,

“ That all my steps with ardent gaze pursue, “ Unveil, she said, the sacred mysteries here,

“ Give the celestial boon to public view. “ Tho' blatant Obloquy with leperous mouth « Shall blot your fame, and blast the generous

deed, " Yet in revolving years some generous youth

“ Shall crown your virtuous act with glory's meed. “ Your names adorn'd in *Gilpin's polish'd page, w With each historick grace, shall shine thro' every

age.
“ With furious hate the fierce relentless power

“ Exert of torment all her horrid skill ;
Tho' your lives meer too soon the fatal hour
- Scorching in flames, or writhing on the wheel;

* The Rev. Mr. William Gilpin, author of the lives of Bernard Gilpin, Bishop Latimer, Vick!iff, and in principal of his follo.vers.

“ Yet when the Dragon in the deep abyss

“ Shall lie, fast bound in adamantine chain, “ Ye with the Lamb shall rise to ceaseless bliss,

“ First-fruits of death, and partners of his reign; " Then shall repay the momentary tear “ The great sabbatick rest, the millenary year:

WILLIAM DODD.

1729—1777.

Dodd's was a life of thoughtlessness and extravagance, and

he paid dearly for all his faults in the conclusion of it. Courage at an earlier period, to have met the evils hę brought upon himself, might have saved him from the last and most terrible one. Had he lived an economist he might have died honourably. Yet, let him have his due; and his claim is not sinall - Many were reclaimed from vice and many relieved from wretchedness by his labours. Who derived advantage from his death? When one reads his pathetick appeals for mercy, at his trial, and in the Prison-thoughts, one is tempted to ask if the hearts to which they were made were human,

or ever knew what it was to err ? But it was an appeal to Avarice under the name of Justice :

and at a tribunal, where property is of more value than the life of man, such an appeal is not likely to he heard. The advertisement prefixed to the MS. of the Prison-thoughts,

concludes with a remarkable break, more impressive than

the most finished rhetorick. « The thinking will easily pardon all inaccuracies, as I am

neither able nor willing to read over these melancholy lines with a curious and critical eye. They are imperfect, but the language of the heart; and had I time and inclination, might and should be improved.

But ."

Thoughts in Prison.

Yer, oh ye sons of Justice !--ere we quit
This awful court, expostulation's voice
One moment hear impartial. Give a while.
Your honest hearts to nature's touches true,
Her fine resentments faithful. Draw aside
That veil from reason's clear reflecting view,
Which practice long, and rectitude supposed
Of laws establish’d, hath obstructive hung.
But pleads or time, or long prescription aught
In favour or abatement of the wrong
By folly wrought, or errour? Hoary grown,
And sanctify'd by custom's habit grey,
Absurdity stalks forth, still more absurd,

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