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 That covet Dangers, and ride Pot to die,

To live in Air, and WALK in Memory;

Vain Fame with high Fermented Vapour hot,

To be remember'd, trives to be forgot.

Wrap'd in his Jet, the bubbl'd Heroe dies,

Immortalizd in Mortal Memories,

Fill's up a Ballad, made too great in Rhime,

Is fabl'd into Tale, and dies again by Time.

And this for nothing, but to have it known,

He dy'd an ASS of very great Renown,

A forward Coxcomb, who in hate to dy,

Fought for he car'd not who, nor car'd not why.

One jut Excue indeed ome few may give,

That die, becaue they can't tell how to live:

Thee hall in Pity 'cape our Cenure here,

So Cowards dare not live, and hang themelves for Fear.

He's truly brave that Fights in Jut Defence

Of Virtue pre'd, of injur'd Innocence,

Himelf, the Laws, his Neighbour, or his Prince;

Dares all the lawful Call's of Fate obey,

No Danger will decline, no Trut betray;

While he that heal's his Tortures in the War,

Own's he's a Coward, and only fights for Fear:

As for the Sport of Fighting, that's a Jet,

They talk of mot, that undertand it leat.

Buda reduc'd, and Gallantry laid by,

Europe the Sweets of hort liv'd Peace enjoy: