Classic Poem

If that more Fame is gain'd (for so we're told)
Not as our Life, but Death, appears more bold,
And voluntary too, thy Death should seem
A Virtue in thee, Creech , and not a Crime.
By voluntary Death we Fame should get,
Making a Gift of what was but a Debt;
Paying that Debt, which we to Nature owe,
E'er Heav'n demands it, or the Debt be due.

Death may be shameful when we from it fly;
But when we meet it, turns to Victory.
Creech found the trifling Sand of Life run slow,
(Impatient, that he might immortal grow:)
And in that Zeal of shunning Pain, his Fate
He would not stay for, but anticipate;
And, with Lucretius , did himself translate.
Unlike those Cowards, who alone dare praise
A noble Scorn of Death in pompous Phrase,
He by Example justified his Thought,
And follow'd the bold Dectrine which he taught.
Besides, his dying thus a Volunteer,
Shew'd more his Faith in God, as less his Fear;
Who bids th' O'erladen, and the Weary come
And find sure Rest in their eternal Home;
And does not this imply, we shou'd not wait,
To prove less Faith, a second Call from Fate?
This is a Life of Sin, and still the more
'Tis lengthen'd, we enlarge the dismal Score;
Creech , that he might no more his God offend,
At once to Sin and Sorrow put an End.
And merits so a Martyr to be thought,
Dying unforc'd, to prove the Faith he taught.
Our faithless Priests to others only preach
Contempt of Life; belying what they teach;
While no Examples of their own they shew,
Tho' 'twere to Heav'n by Martyrdom to go.
Nor e'er, to prove their Faith in God, will die
Freely, tho' sure of Immortality.