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Thinks I to Myself; A Serio-Ludicro, Tragico-Comico Tale by Edward Nares

Thinks I to Myself; A Serio-Ludicro, Tragico-Comico Tale
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Author: Edward Nares
Number of Pages: 60 pages
Published Date: 01 May 2012
Publisher: Rarebooksclub.com
Publication Country: Miami Fl, United States
Language: English
ISBN: 9781235928178
File Name: Thinks.I.to.Myself;.A.Serio-Ludicro,.Tragico-Comico.Tale.pdf
Download Link: Thinks I to Myself; A Serio-Ludicro, Tragico-Comico Tale
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1824 Excerpt: ... I not, this life forego? I know the storm that waits my destin'd head., The trifling joys I yet may hope to reap; The momentary pang I have to dread, The state of undisturb'd undreaming sleep! Then all is known, --and all is known too well. Or to distract, or to delay my choice: --No hopes solicit, as no fears rebel, Against mine ultimate determin'd voice. Had 1 suspicions that a future state Might yet exist, as haply I have none; 'Twere worth the cost to venture on my fate, Impell'd by curiosity alone.--Sated with life, and amply gratify'd In every varied pleasure life can give, One sole enjoyment yet remains untry'd, One only novelty, --to cease to live. Not yet reduc'd a scornful alms to crave, Nor yet of those with whom 1 live, the spori.-No great man's pander, parasite, or slave, O Death! I seek thy hospitable port! Thou like a virgin in her bridal sheet, Seemest prcpar'd consenting kind to liej The happy bridegroom, I, with hasty feet, Fly to thy arms in rapt'rous ecstasy! ANSAVER. Never more modulate with your sweet aid, Ye gentle Muses! such unhallowed strains! 'Resolv'd to die;'--shall this by Man be said? Thankless for pleasure, shall he bear no pains? To him who from the cold tomb hopes to rise, Death's icy arms full'hospitable' are; But who, averse from this world, murm'ring flies; Thy sting, O Grave! mistakingly may dare! %Vhy dost thou ask, if flatt'ring hopes remain? If to thy ' unton'd frame' health may return? Sure to new scenes of pleasure or of pain, Some hand may burst the cerements of thy urn. The varying seasons expectation give: Go to the clos'd-np buds in winter's gloom Ask by what recreating pow'r they live, In gay spring-tide-who renovates their bloom! This is experience: --but the grave's unknown! Vrom pain, from sickness, and from p...

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