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Dismiss me, weary, to a fafe retreat
Beneath the turf that I have often trod.

It fhall not grieve me, then, that once, when call'd
To drefs a Sofa with the flow'rs of verse,

I play'd awhile, obedient to the fair,

With that light Task: but foon, to please her more,
Whom flow'rs alone I knew would little please,
Let fall th' unfinish'd wreath, and rov❜d for fruit;
Rov'd far, and gather'd much: fome harsh, 'tis true,
Pick'd from the thorns and briers of reproof,
But wholesome, well-digefted; grateful fome
To palates that can taste immortal truth;
Infipid elfe, and fure to be defpis'd.
But all is in His hand whose praise I seek.
In vain the poet fings, and the world hears,
If he regard not, though divine the theme.
'Tis not in artful measures, in the chime
And idle tinkling of a minstrel's lyre,

To charm His ear, whofe eye is on the heart;
Whose frown can disappoint the proudest strain,
Whofe approbation-profper even mine.

AN

EPISTLE

то

JOSEPH HILL, Esq.

DEAR JOSEPH-five and twenty years aga
Alas, how time escapes !-'tis even so-
With frequent intercourfe, and always sweet,
And always friendly, we were wont to cheat
A tedious hour-and now we never meet!
As fome grave gentleman in Terence fays,
('Twas thereføre much the fame in ancient days)
Good lack, we know not what to-morrow brings→→
Strange fluctuation of all human things!
True. Changes will befall, and friends may part,
But distance only cannot change the heart:

And, were I call'd to prove th' affertion true,
One proof should serve-a reference to you.

Whence comes it, then, that in the wane of life, Though nothing have occurr'd to kindle ftrife, We find the friends we fancied we had won, Though num'rous once, reduc'd to few or none? Can gold grow worthless that has stood the touch? No-gold they feem'd, but they were never such.

Horatio's fervant once, with bow and cringe, Swinging the parlour-door upon its hinge, Dreading a negative, and overaw'd

Left he should trefpafs, begg'd to go abroad. Go, fellow!whither?turning fhort about Nay-stay at home you're always going out, 'Tis but a step, Sir, juft at the street's end. For what? An please you, Sir, to see a friend. A friend! Horatio cried, and seem'd to start— marry fhalt thou, and with all my heart.

Yea

And fetch

my cloak; for though the night be raw,

I'll fee him too-the first I ever faw.

t

I knew the man, and knew his nature mild, And was his plaything often when a child ;

;

But somewhat at that moment pinch'd him close,
Elfe he was feldom bitter or morofe.

Perhaps, his confidence just then betray'd,

His grief might prompt him with the speech he made;
Perhaps, 'twas mere good-humour gave it birth,
The harmless play of pleafantry and mirth.
Howe'er it was, his language, in my mind,
Bespoke at least a man that knew mankind,

But, not to moralize too much, and strain
To prove an evil of which all complain,
(I hate long arguments, verbofely fpun)
One ftory more, dear Hill, and I have done,
Once on a time, an emp'ror, a wife man-
No matter where, in China or Japan---
Decreed, that whofoever should offend
Against the well-known duties of a friend,
Convicted once, should ever after wear
But half a coat, and how his bofom bare.
The punishment importing this, no doubt,
That all was naught within, and all found out.

Oh, happy Britain! we have not to fear
Such hard and arbitrary measure here;
Elfe, could a law like that which I relate
Once have the fanction of our triple state,

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