The Dying Profligate. Anonymous Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T197405 Young Lady, fl. 1790. Poems on Several Occasions. Dublin W. Porter 1790 pp. [3]-5. 14p.

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The Dying Profligate . OH where can there — can there be Comfort for a wretch like me ? If I inward take a view Conscience there I meet with you , There my sins in order rise , Ghastly forms before my eyes , Lust , oppression , falshood , pride , And unnumber'd crimes beside ; If I upward dare to look , There's the God , whose laws I broke , Whose stern justice , once my jest , Points its lightnings at my breast ; If I forward cast my eye , There I see destruction nigh , While I , from the brink of death , Trembling view the Hell beneath . " Gay companions , once so dear , Who so oft my heart cou'd chear , Have your tales and songs no power To relieve this dreadful hour ? Innate courage , can'st not thou Aid my sinking spirits now ? No — in vain — in vain I call , Wretched comforts are ye all . Death approaches — his stern brow Threats the fearful ruin now : King of terrors , O forbear , Hear for once a mortal's pray'r ; Stay thy hand , some respite give , Grant me but a short reprieve , Ere thy fatal arrow fly , Let , oh let me learn to die . " Hope , on which the wretched live , Hope perhaps may yet revive , And as the ruling midnight star Cheers the lonely mariner , Points him to the happy strand , Where in safety he may land , May direct me which way lies The fair coast of Paradise . Jesus , who reigns above the sky , Did on earth for mortals die , He may yet compassion feel , And my pardon yet may seal ; But oh I dread , I more than fear , Even Jesus will not hear . Now his blood for vengeance cries , That blood which oft I did despise ; Vengeance hears , nor will delay ; Mercy — I have sinn'd away ; Her sweet voice I hear no more , My sins too late I now deplore . Oh the sad distressing thought ! Fain I'd hope — but know not what ; All my soul's in tempest lost , All in wild confusion's tost , " But oh now I feel the moment come , Now I go to meet my doom , Now I plunge I know not where , Horror all , and black despair . "