Edward Young (1683 – 1765)
English poet, best remembered for Night Thoughts.
Lovely in death the beauteous ruin lay;
And if in death still lovely, lovelier there;
Far lovelier! pity swells the tide of love.
Beautiful as sweet!
And young as beautiful! and soft as young!
And gay as soft! and innocent as gay.
The knell, the shroud, the mattock, and the grave,
The deep damp vault, the darkness and the worm.
By all means use some time to be alone.
Thoughts shut up want air,
And spoil, like bales unopen’d to the sun.
Woes cluster. Rare are solitary woes;
They love a train, they tread each other’s heel.
A death-bed ’s a detector of the heart.
That life is long which answers life's great end.
And waste their music on the savage race.
The chamber where the good man meets his fate
Is privileg’d beyond the common walk
Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven.
'Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours,
And ask them what report they bore to heaven.
And friend received with thumps upon the back.
Truth never was indebted to a lie.
Titles are marks of honest men, and wise;
The fool or knave that wears a title lies.
And what its worth, ask death-beds; they can tell.
The blood will follow where the knife is driven,
The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear.
The man that makes a character makes foes.
When the Law shows her teeth, but dares not bite.