A _Sick Kite_ and her _Mother_.
Pray _Mother_, (says a Sick _Kite_) Give over these Idle Lamentations,
and let me rather have your Prayers. Alas! my Child, (says the Dam) which
of the Gods shall I go to, for a Wretch that has Robb’d All their Altars?
The MORAL.
_Nothing but the Conscience of a Virtuous Life can make Death Easie to
us; Wherefore there’s No trusting to the Distraction of an Agonizing, and
a Death-bed Repentance._