BURIED IN THE CATHEDRAL OF LICHFIELD.
PAUSE here a moment, for this stone beneath
Rests good Rebecca, who, defying Death,
With smiling Patience his approach receiv'd,
Died as she lived, nor ever idly griev'd.
Averse from all the needless woe and strife
That plant their brambles 'mid the walks of life,
Firm in her faith, and innocently gay,
As easy as she could she made her way,
And gratefully enjoy'd whate'er God sent,
Till heavenly bliss succeeded to content.
Spoken extempore to the printer's devil, who required one to fill up this page.
THE printer's devil hath but one to fight,
Whilst all the world's at war with them who write.
FOR ever, Matho, will you thus complain,
That of my tiny parts I'm far too vain?
Come winter-fires anew, and 'tis four
years
Since my poor poems tingled in your ears.
Unask'd, I read not, nor despair'd to please;
My folly seen, I wound no more your ease,
Yet, ere you blame my vanity, be sure
Take pains, and great ones too, your own to cure.
The world at large, the mass of human kind,
To worth, possess'd I much, were surely blind.
Fair Virtue's picture seldom shews aright,
But when display'd in Fortune's golden light;
Thus were I seen on Station's mount to rise,
Far would my blaze extend in Flatt'ry's eyes;
My little rhet❜ric would enchant each ear,
The spleenful Fastuo would my sense revere,
Misella blame no more my lib'ral air,
Nor at my spirit high-born Curio stare,
No more my weal Malignus undermine,
(Too proud to urge an impotent design)
My manners prim Minutus would admire,
And thou, cold Matho, my poetic fire,
Whilst I your folly should with scorn behold,
Nor deem the picture better for the gold.
Grant me, my God, from Wisdom's brow sublime To mark with awe the rolling flood of Time, To watch the sacred minutes as they rise, And freight the current which before me flies; Let me no more my forepast. ills lament, Forgetting thee, sole source of all content. Ah! what is Vice's scorn, what Folly's sneer, When I reflect how kind a judge is near, What all that man from man can e'er receive, When I consider what a God can give ? Let me then scorn these inauspicious days, Nor meanly beg the barren boon of praise, And whilst my pow'rs in thy dread cause appear, Nor envious man, nor adverse fortune fear; With me let Matho's self thy mercy share,
Blush for his faults, and tremble at my prayer.
No more, dear George, of troubles past,
For them should Fancy still hold fast,
To paint 'em forth in all her hues,
You cannot fly them when you choose.
Oft 'mid the present sunshine, they,
O'erclouding, damp the brightest day,
And sink your heart with woe for what
(But for the Fancy's freak) is not.
Why from Imagination fetch
Dread* hues to heighten Mem'ry's sketch,
Which, if neglected, soon shall fall,
A sketch of chalk, from Mem'ry's wall?
They really now are nought to you—
Keep you the future well in view,
And wisely store the present day
With acts, whose image shall display
On Mem'ry's tablet forms of grace
Which heav'nly Hope forbids t' efface,
* Voltaire says, with his characteristic gaiety, "misfortunes are good "for nothing, but to be forgotten :" one may add, as soon as the recollection of them has answered their end.
An epistle descriptive of the good pater-familias.
STUDIOUS of simple truth, my muse would plan
The noble portrait of the virtuous man,
That man, Clarissa, whose well-natur'd mind
Repays the merits of thy lovelier kind,
Whose beauteous deed his fair conception proves,
Is all that Heav'n directs, and woman loves.
With patriarch prudence will the good man reign
In household virtue o'er his small domain;
The pleasing passion, which his gallant heart
Would to thy sex (so Nature bids) impart,
He will by Reason's gen'rous office tend,
Own in his better half the dearest friend,
Scorn the rude hints of manly pow'r to give,
Dread the soft subject of that pow'r to grieve,
And make the lover's gloss by fresh'ning culture live.
To keep that lustre fresh, one art will be
Her faults he'll see not, or but smile to see,
Assur'd they flow not from a poison'd source,
But fleet like vapours o'er the river's course.
With cordial tenderness he sooths her woes,
Bids all her weakness on his strength repose,
Allures her love his sager sense to learn,
And woos her listen'd lessons in return *
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