Color
Record No. 26, Side B:
and today’s
poem makes me suspect that the practice of assigning “Fifty Lines of XYZ” for
homework might be older than I thought J
The Sick
Man and the Angel. A Fable
By John
Gay
'Is there
no hope?' the sick man said.
The
silent doctor shook his head,
And took
his leave with signs of sorrow,
Despairing
of his fee to-morrow.
When thus
the man with gasping breath;
'I feel
the chilling wound of death:
Since I
must bid the world adieu,
Let me my
former life review.
I grant,
my bargains well were made,
But all
men over-reach in trade;
'Tis
self-defence in each profession,
Sure
self-defence is no transgression.
The
little portion in my hands,
By good
security on lands,
Is well
increased. If unawares,
My
justice to myself and heirs,
Hath let
my debtor rot in jail,
For want
of good sufficient bail;
If I by
writ, or bond, or deed,
Reduced a
family to need,
My will
hath made the world amends;
My hope
on charity depends.
When I am
numbered with the dead,
And all
my pious gifts are read,
By heaven
and earth 'twill then be known
My
charities were amply shown'
An angel
came. 'Ah, friend!' he cried,
'No more
in flattering hope confide.
Can thy
good deeds in former times
Outweigh
the balance of thy crimes?
What
widow or what orphan prays
To crown
thy life with length of days?
A pious
action's in thy power,
Embrace
with joy the happy hour.
Now,
while you draw the vital air,
Prove
your intention is sincere.
This
instant give a hundred pound;
Your
neighbours want, and you abound.'
'But why
such haste?' the sick man whines;
'Who knows
as yet what Heaven designs?
Perhaps I
may recover still;
That sum
and more are in my will?
'Fool,'
says the vision, 'now 'tis plain,
Your
life, your soul, your heaven was gain,
From
every side, with all your might,
You
scraped, and scraped beyond your right;
And after
death would fain atone,
By giving
what is not your own.'
'While
there is life, there's hope,' he cried;
'Then why
such haste?' so groaned and died.
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