her
sorrowful friends. Let not our grief afflict her mind, and thereby have
an ill effect on her present distemper. Forgive the sorrow and weakness
of those among us who sink under the grief and terror of losing so dear
and useful a friend. Accept and pardon our most earnest prayers and
wishes for her longer continuance in this evil world, to do what Thou art
pleased to call Thy service, and is only her bounden duty; that she may
be still a comfort to us, and to all others, who will want the benefit of
her conversation, her advice, her good offices, or her charity. And
since Thou hast promised that where two or three are gathered together in
Thy Name, Thou wilt be in the midst of them to grant their request, O
Gracious Lord, grant to us who are here met in Thy Name, that those
requests, which in the utmost sincerity and earnestness of our hearts we
have now made in behalf of this Thy distressed servant, and of ourselves,
may effectually be answered; through the merits of Jesus Christ our Lord.
_Amen_.

THE BEASTS' CONFESSION (1732).

When beasts could speak (the learned say
They still can do so every day),
It seems, they had religion then,
As much as now we find in men.
It happened when a plague broke out
(Which therefore made them more devout)
The king of brutes (to make it plain,
Of quadrupeds I only mean),
By proclamation gave command,
That every subject in the land
Should to the priest confess their sins;
And thus the pious wolf begins:

Good father, I must own with shame,
That, often I have been to blame:
I must confess, on Friday last,
Wretch that I was, I broke my fast:
But I defy the basest tongue
To prove I did my neighbour wrong;
Or ever went to seek my food
By rapine, theft, or thirst of blood.

The ass approaching next, confessed,
That in his heart he loved a jest:
A wag he was, he needs must own,
And could not let a dunce alone:
Sometimes his friend he would not spare,
And might perhaps be too severe:
But yet, the worst that could be said,
He was a wit both born and bred;
And, if it be a sin or shame,
Nature alone must bear the blame:
One fault he hath, is sorry for't,
His ears are half a foot too short;
Which could he to the standard bring,
He'd show his face before the king:
Then, for his voice, there's none disputes
That he's the nightingale of brutes.

The swine with contrite heart allowed,
His shape and beauty made him proud:
In diet was perhaps too nice,
But glutton