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A DIRGE, by                    
First Line: Sleep, sleep poor youth, sleep, sleep in peace
Last Line: The folly of, &c.
Subject(s): Death; Dead, The


Sleep, sleep poor Youth, sleep, sleep in Peace,
Reliev'd from Love, and mortal Care,
Whilst we that pine in Life's Disease,
Uncertain, blest less happy are.

Couch'd in the dark and silent Grave,
No Ills of Fate thou now canst fear,
In vain would Tyrant Power enslave,
Or scornful Beauty be severe.

Wars that do fatal Storms disperse,
Far from thy happy Mansion keep,
Earthquakes that shake the Universe,
Can't rock thee into sounder Sleep.

With all the Charms of Peace possest,
Secure from Life's Tormentor, Pain,
Sleep and indulge thy self with Rest,
Nor dream thou e'er shalt rise again.

CHORUS

Past is the Fear of future Doubt,
The Sun is from the Dial gone,
The Sands are sunk, the Glass is out,
The Folly of the Farce is done,
The Folly of, &c.





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