And ye who, rather than resign Were not afraid to plough the brine For whose lean country much disdain Be it your fortune, year by year, June, 1793. A SPANIEL, CALLED BEAU, KILLING A SPANIEL, Beau, that fares like you, Each trifle that he sees. But you have kill'd a tiny bird, Which flew not till to-day, Against my orders, whom you heard Forbidding you the prey. Nor did you kill that you might eat And ease a doggish pain, For him, though chased with furious heat, Nor was he of the thievish sort, BEAU'S REPLY. SIR, when I flew to seize the bird You cried-Forbear-but in my breast Yet, much as nature I respect, I ventured once to break (As you perhaps may recollect) Her precept for your sake; And when your linnet on a day, Had flutter'd all his strength away, Well knowing him a sacred thing, And lick'd his feathers smooth. Let my obedience then excuse Nor some reproof yourself refuse If killing birds be such a crime What think you, Sir, of killing time TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. DEAR architect of fine chateaux in air, O for permission from the skies to share, Much to my own, though little to thy good, With thee (not subject to the jealous mood!) A partnership of literary ware! But I am bankrupt now; and doom'd henceforth That he has furnish'd lights for other eyes, ANSWER To Stanzas addressed to Lady Hesketh, by Miss Catherine Fanshawe, in returning a Poem of Mr. Cowper's, lent to her, on condition she should neither show it, nor take a Copy. To be remember'd thus is fame, And in the first degree; And did the few like her the same, So Homer, in the memory stored Was once preserved—a richer hoard, ON FLAXMAN'S PENELOPE. THE suitors sinn'd, but with a fair excuse, TO THE SPANISH ADMIRAL COUNT GRAVINA, ON HIS TRANSLATING THE AUTHOR'S SONG ON A ROSE INTO ITALIAN VERSE. My rose, Gravina, blooms anew, 1793. TO MARY. THE twentieth year is well nigh past Thy spirits have a fainter flow, I see thee daily weaker grow My Mary! |