An ELEGY on a Tallow Candle

Pensive I lay e'en from the Dead of Night, Until the Sun his daily Course began, Reflecting on the Candle's wasting Light, And moraliz'd the Fate of mortal Man.

White and unsullied was that Cotton Wick, When from the Chandler first to me it came; Behold how black! the greasy Drops how thick! Such Colour takes it from imparted Flame.

Such is the Youth, of Manners strict and pure, Till led by Vice he quits his Reason's Guide; By Flatt'ry drawn he stoops to Vice's Lure, And from the Paths of Reason wanders wide.

His Passions melt, his manly Vigour faints, Nor mourns he aught his former Virtue gone, For foul Society his Moral taints, And Mother Douglas marks him for her own.

The Fool who sells his Freedom for a Smile, Or for a Ribband barters Peace of Mind, Like wasting Wicks just glimmers for a while, Then dies in Smoke and leaves a Stink behind.

The many Perils that Ambition wait, When soaring high we still the lower fall, Are but the Snuffers of expiring Light, And Death's the grand Extinguisher of all.