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JAMES THOMSON

1700-1748

458                              On the Death of a particular Friend

AS those we love decay, we die in part,
String after string is severd from the heart;
Till loosend life, at last but breathing clay,
Without one pang is glad to fall away.

Unhappy he who latest feels the blow!
Whose eyes have wept oer every friend laid low,
Draggd lingring on from partial death to death,
Till, dying, all he can resign isbreath.

 

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