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Who deem his house a useless place;
Faith, want of common sense; And ardour in the Christian race,
Ą hypocrite's pretence ?
Who trample order; and the day,
Which God asserts his own, Dishonour with unhallow'd play,
And worship chance alone?
On word and deed, imply
With life that cannot die;
Such want it, and that want, uncured
Till man resigns his breath, Speaks him a criminal, assured
Of everlasting death.
Sad period to a pleasant course!
Yet so will God repay
And mercy cast away,
INSCRIPTION FOR A STONE
ERECTED AT THE SOWING OF A GROVE OF OAKS AT CHIL
LINGTON, THE SEAT OF T. GIFFORD, ESQ. 1790.
OTHER stones the era tell,
Which shall longest brave the sky,
Cherish honour, virtue, truth,
COMPOSED FOR A MEMORIAL OF ASHLEY COWPER, ESQ,
IMMEDIATELY AFTER HIS DEATH, BY HIS NEPHEW WILLIAM OF WESTON.
FAREWELL! endued with all that could
engage All hearts to love thee, both in youth and age! In prime of life, for sprightliness enroll’d Among the gay, yet virtuous as the old;
TO THE MEMORY OF THORNTON. 279 In life's last stage (O blessings rarely found !) Pleasant as youth with all its blossoms crown'd; Through every period of this changeful state Unchanged thyself—wise, good, affectionate! Marble
may flatter; and lest this should seem O'ercharged with praises on so dear a theme, Although thy worth be more than half suppress'd, Love shall be satisfied, and veil the rest.
TO THE MEMORY
OF THE LATE
JOHN THORNTON, ESQ.
Poets attempt the noblest task they can,
Thee, therefore, of commercial fame, but more
What pleasure can the miser's fondled hoard Or spendthrift's prodigal excess afford,
280 TO THE MEMORY OF THORNTON.
Such was thy charity; no sudden start,
Thy bounties all were Christian, and I make This record of thee for the Gospel's sake; That the incredulous themselves may see Its use and power exemplified in Thee.
MEMORY OF DR. LLOYD.
Our good, old friend is gone, gone to his rest,
with a father's
sway, And when impair'd by time and glad to rest, Yet still with looks, in mild complacence dress’d, He took his annual seat, and mingled here His sprightly vein with yours-now drop a tear. In morals blameless as in manners meek, He knew no wish that he might blush to speak; But, happy in whatever state below, And richer than the rich in being so, Obtain'd the hearts of all, and such a meed At length from One', as made him rich indeed. Hence then, ye titles, hence, not wanted here, Go, garnish merit in a brighter sphere, The brows of those whose more exalted lot He could congratulate, but envied not.
Light lie the turf, good Senior! on thy breast, And tranquil as thy mind was be thy rest! Though, living, thou hadst more desert than fame, And not a stone now chronicles thy name.
1 He was usher and under master of Westminster near fifty years, and retired from his occupation when he was near seventy, witb a bandsome pension from the king.