Is there not some chosen curse, Some hidden thunder in the stores of heaven, Red with uncommon wrath, to blast the man Who owes his greatness to his … - Joseph Addison

— I’m sick to death — Oh when shall I get loose From this vain world, the abode of guilt and sorrow! — And yet methinks a beam of light breaks in On my departing soul. Alas! I fear 95 I’ve been too hasty. O ye powers that search The heart of man, and weigh his inmost thoughts, If I have done amiss, impute it not! — The best may err, but you are good, and — oh! [Dies.]

O Dormer, how can I behold thy fate, And not the wonders of thy youth relate; How can I see the gay, the brave, the young, Fall in the cloud of war, and lie unsung! In joys of conquest he resigns his breath, And, filled with England's glory, smiles in death.

What though no real voice nor sound Amid their radiant orbs be found ; In reason's ear they all rejoice, And utter forth a glorious voice, Forever singing as they shine, "The Hand that made us divine."