Classic Poem

Behold, my Dear, our common Fate,
Whether in Indigence or State;
A King and Beggar equal stand
Expos'd, to Death's unerring Hand.
The Diadem protects no more,
Than those poor Rags the Beggar wore;
The beauteous Face, the sparkling Eye.
Those Charms, for which whole Millions sigh;
Can't baffle Death — for all must die.
Cou'd Beauty e'er his Pity move,
Was he susceptible of Love;
Sure! C — — — y might hope to find
The Conquest her's: — and to Mankind
The conquer'd Monarch, by Surprize,
Might send his Summons, through her Eyes.