My breath is as sweet as the breath of blown roses, While you are a nuisance where'er you appear; There is nothing but snivelling and blowing of noses, Such a noise as turns any man's stomach to hear. Then lifting his lid in a delicate way, [ing, And opening his mouth with a smile quite engagThe Box in reply was heard plainly to say, What a silly dispute is this we are waging! If you have a little of merit to claim, [weed, You may thank the sweet-smelling Virginian And I, if I seem to deserve any blame, The beforemention'd drug in apology plead. Thus neither the praise nor the blame is our own No room for a sneer, much less a cachinnus, We are vehicles, not of tobacco alone, [in us. But of any thing else they may choose to put THE FLATTING MILL. AN ILLUSTRATION. WHEN a bar of pure silver or ingot of gold Thus tortured and squeezed, at last it appears This process achieved, it is doom'd to sustain Alas for the poet! who dares undertake His head and his heart are both likely to ache After all he must beat it as thin and as fine And unless you adorn it, a nausea follows. EPITAPH ON A FREE BUT TAME REDBREAST, A FAVOURITE OF MISS SALLY HURDIS. THESE are not dewdrops, these are tears, For absent Robin, who she fears, With too much cause, is dead. One morn he came not to her hand And, on her finger perch'd, to stand Alarm'd, she call'd him, and perplex'd That day he came not, nor the next, She therefore raised him here a tomb, Had half a score of coxcombs died Poor Sally's tears had soon been dried, But Bob was neither rudely bold Nor was, like theirs, his bosom cold, March, 1792. SONNET ADDRESSED TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. HAYLEY-thy tenderness fraternal shown Of friendship more, except with God alone. But thou hast won me; nor is God my foe, Who, ere this last afflictive scene began, Sent thee to mitigate the dreadful blow, My brother, by whose sympathy I know Thy true deserts infallibly to scan, Not more to admire the bard than love the man. June 2, 1792. AN EPITAPH. HERE lies one who never drew Would advance, present, and fire— Neptune was he call'd, not he Who controls the boisterous sea, And, your wonder vain to shorten, 1792. ON RECEIVING HAYLEY'S PICTURE. In language warm as could be breathed or penn'd ON A PLANT OF VIRGIN'S BOWER, DESIGNED TO COVER A GARDEN-SEAT. THRIVE, gentle plant! and weave a bower And deck with many a splendid flower Thou camest from Eartham, and wilt shade (If truly I divine) Some future day the illustrious head Of him who made thee mine. Should Daphne show a jealous frown, Affirming none so fit to crown Such honour'd brows as they, |