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They best can judge a poet's worth
Who oft themselves have known
By labours of their own.
We therefore, pleased, extol thy song,
Though various, yet complete,
And learned as 'tis sweet.
No envy mingles with our praise,
Though, could our hearts repine
They would,—they must, at thine
But we, in mutual bondage knit
Of friendship's closest tie,
With an unjaundiced eye;
And deem the bard, whoe'er he be,
And howsoever known, Who would not twine a wreath for thee,
Unworthy of his own.
ON HIS APPROACHING Visit to HAYLEY
THROUGH floods and flames to your retreat
I win my desperate way,
Will echo your huzza.
Here lies one who never drew
And to all this fame he rose
EPITAPH ON “Fop"
A DOG BELONGING TO LADY THROCKMORTON
THOUGH once a puppy, and though Fop by name,
“Yes”—the indignant shade of Fop replies -
To George Romney, Esq.
ON HIS PICTURE OF ME IN CRAYONS, DRAWN AT EARTHAM IN THE SIXTY. FIRST YEAR OF MY AGE, AND IN THE MONTHS OF AUGUST AND
Romney, expert infallibly to trace
On chart or canvas not the form alone
And semblance, but, however faintly shown,
Thou hast so pencilled mine that, though I own
The subject worthless, I have never known
In thy incomparable work appear.
Since, on maturer thought, the cause is clear;
ON RECEIVING HAYLEY's PICTURE ·
In language warm as could be breathed or penned
To his Cousin, Lady HESKETH
REASONS WHY HE COULD NOT WRITE HER A GOOD LETTER
My pens are all split, and my ink-glass is dry;
EPITAPH ON MR. Chester, of CHICHELY
Tears flow, and cease not, where the good man lies,
Thrive, gentle plant! and weave a bower
For Mary and for me,
Thy foliage large and free.
Thou camest from Eartham, and wilt shade
(If truly I divine)
Of him who made thee mine.
Should Daphne show a jealous frown,
And Envy seize the bay,
Such honoured brows as they,
Thy cause with zeal we shall defend,
And with convincing power ;
Be crowned with Virgin's Bower?
To My Cousin, Anne BODHAM
ON RECEIVING FROM HER A NETWORK PURSE MADE BY HERSELF
My gentle Anne, .whom heretofore,
Than plaything for a nurse,
I thank thee for my purse.
Gold pays the worth of all things here ;
For richest rogues to win it:
The best things kept within it.
FOR A HERMITAGE IN THE AUTHOR'S GARDEN
To Mrs. UNWIN Mary! I want a lyre with other strings, Such aid from Heaven as some have feigned they drew, An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new And undebased by praise of meaner things,