Ev’n as he spake, he sank himself to rest.
She knew th’ Event, but knew not long; her sight,
Her Hearing fails; ’twas Dimness, and ’twas Night! 550
They sleep together, and our Record ends;
But first a Priest his Application lends.
Pains, Troubles, Sorrows, Life’s more grievous cares,
All from our ill, or for our Good arise;
For all correction thank the Hand that spares,
For all Affliction bless the Power that tries!