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The bud inserted in the rind,

The bud of peach or rose, Adorns, though differing in its kind,

The stock whereon it grows, With flower as sweet, or fruit as fair, As if produced by nature there.

Not rich, I render what I may;

I seize thy name in haste, And place it in this first assay,

Lest this should prove the last. 'Tis where it should be-in a plan That holds in view the good of man.

The poet's lyre, to fix his fame,

Should be the poet's heart;
Affection lights a brighter flame

Than ever blazed by art.
No muses on these lines attend,
I sink the poet in the friend.

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PO E M,
IN SIX BO O K s.

BY WILLIAM COWPER,

OF THE INNER TEMPLE, ESQ.

Fit surculus arbor.

ANONYM.

To which are added,

BY THE SAME AUTHOR,

An EPISTLE to JOSEPH HILL, Esq. TIROCINIUM, or a

REVIEW of SCHOOLS, and the History of JOHN GILPIN.

LONDON: PRINTED FOR J. JOHNSON, No 72, ST. PAUL'S

CHURCH-YARD:

1785.

(Copy of the title-page of Corper's second publication.]

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