Recovering from a Fit of Sickness.

Recovering from a Fit of Sickness.

I.

WHen late the tyrannous Malady With intermitted Rage Seem'd to presage, Or Suddain Health or Dissolution nigh; False World (said I) that Steal'st my reall Joyes Shuffling in stead thy changeling Toys: Begone! I'le not be brib'd at any Rate To sell m'approaching Fate, And Re-assume that Toilsome Task to Live: I prize not Grandieur, and I know (Were I thy Favourite as I'm thy Foe) What I affect, thou never canst bestow: I'd have Content, but That was never Thine to give. Remove that Taper from my sight, Th' impertinent Light Presents no gratefull Object to my View; Ev'n those Fair Eyes that Planets once appear'd, (The only Planets I rever'd) To my dim sight, seem now t'have Lost their Lustre too

II.

Thus Musing as I Lay, to my Bedside (Attir'd in all his Mourning Pride) The King of Terrours came; Awfull his Looks, but not deformed and Grim; He's no such Bug-bear as we feign of Him, Scarce we our selves so Civiliz'd and Tame! Unknown the Doom assign'd me in this Change For full Crimes and imperfect Penitence, (Though justly I might dread the Strickt Revenge Of an Enrag'd Omnipotence) Yet with my present Griefs distrest, With curious Thoughts of unknown Worlds possest Inflam'd with Thirst of Liberty, Long Lov'd, but nere Enjoy'd by me, I su'd for Leave the fatall Gulf to Pass: My Vitall Sand is almost run, And Death (said I) will strike anon, Then to dull Life I bid along Farewell; But as the last grains fell, Death faild my credulous Hopes, and Turn'd the Glass.