Ite tituli! meritis beatioribus Nec invidebat ille, si quibus favens Etsi superbum nec vivo tibi Decus sit inditum, nec mortuo THE SAME IN ENGLISH. OUR good old friend is gone, gone to his rest, ye of riper age, who recollect How once ye loved, and eyed him with respect, While yet he ruled you with a father's sway, And richer than the rich in being so, Obtain'd the hearts of all, and such a meed 1 See the note in the Latin copy. Hence, then, ye titles, hence, not wanted here, The brows of those whose more exalted lot 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. TO MRS. THROCKMORTON, ON HER BEAUTIFUL TRANSCRIPT OF HORACE'S ODE, MARIA, could Horace have guess'd The honour which you have bestow'd; He had laugh'd at the critical sneer Which he seems to have trembled to meet. And sneer, if you please, he had said, Who shall give me, when you are all dead, The glory your malice denies Shall dignity give to my lay, And even a poet shall say, Nothing ever was written so well. Feb. 1790. TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY OF THE HALIBUT, ON WHICH I DINĘD THIS DAY, MONDAY, APRIL 26, 1784. WHERE hast thou floated, in what seas pursued Wherever thou hast fed, thou little thought'st, To the same drag that caught thee !—Fare thee Thy lot thy brethren of the slimy fin [well! Would envy, could they know that thou wast doom'd To feed a bard, and to be praised in verse. INSCRIPTION FOR A STONE ERECTED AT THE SOWING OF A GROVE OF OAKS AT CHILLINGTON, THE SEAT OF T. GIFFORD, ESQ. 1790. OTHER stones the era tell When some feeble mortal fell; Which shall longest brave the sky, Pass an age or two away, I must moulder and decay, But the years that crumble me Cherish honour, virtue, truth, Stone at heart, and cannot grow. ANOTHER, FOR A STONE ERECTED ON A SIMILAR OCCASION AT THE SAME PLACE IN THE FOLLOWING YEAR. READER! behold a monument That asks no sigh or tear, Though it perpetuate the event Of a great burial here. June, 1790. Anno 1791. TO MRS. KING, ON HER KIND PRESENT TO THE AUTHOR, A PATCHWORK COUNTERPANE OF HER OWN MAKING. THE bard, if e'er he feel at all, Must sure be quicken'd by a call Who deigns to deck his bed. A bed like this, in ancient time, (As Homer's epic shows) Composed of sweetest vernal flowers, For Jove and Juno rose. |