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...183.1i;)) Must-hide his name of whom I sing," ) Lest his surviving house thou bring
For his sake into scorn,
Nor place where he was born.
That such a man once was, may seem
Perchance may credit win)
* Written on reading the following in the obituary of the Gentleman's Magazine for April, 1789—"At Tottenham, John Ardesoif, Esq., a young man of large fortune, and in the splendour of his carriages and horses rivalled by few country gentlemen. His table was that of hospitality, where, it may be said, he sacrificed too much to conviviality; but, if he had his foibles he had his merits also, that far outweigbed them. Mr. A. was very fond of cock-fighting, and had a favourite cock, upon wbich he had won many profitable matches. The last bet he laid upon this cock he lost; which so enraged him, that be had the bird tied to a spit and roasted alive before a large fire. The screams of the miserable animal were so affecting, that some gentlemen who were present attempted to interfere, which so enraged Mr. A., that he seized a poker, and with the most furious vehemence declared, that he would kill the first man who interposed; but, in the midst of his passionate asseverations, he fell down dead upon the spoi. Such, we are assured, were the circumstances which attended the death of thię great pillar of humanity.!!
For proof to man, what man may prove, If grace depart, and demons move
The source of guilt within.
This man (for since the howling wild Disclaims him, man he must be styled)
Wanted no good below, Gentle he was, if gentle birth Could make him such, and he had worth,
If wealth can worth bestow.
In social talk and ready jest,
And qualities of mind,
kind. Methinks I see him powder'd red, With bushy locks his well-dress'd head
Wing'd broad on either side, The mossy rosebud not so sweet ; His steeds superb, his carriage neat,
As luxury could provide.
Can such be cruel ? Such can be
A tyrant entertain'd
'Twixt birds to battle train'd.
One feathered champion he possess'd,
Which never knew disgrace,
The Cæsar of his race.
It chanced at last, when, on a day,
His courage droop'd, he fled.
He doom'd his favourite dead.
He seized him fast, and from the pit Flew to the kitchen, snatch'd the spit,
And, bring me cord, he cried ; The cord was brought, and, at his word, To that dire implement the bird,
Alive and struggling, tied.
The horrid sequel asks a veil ;
That can be shall be sunk
And him with fury drunk.
All, suppliant, beg a milder fate
He, deaf to pity's call,
Whirl'd round him rapid as a wheel
Death menacing on all.
But vengeance hung not far remote,
And heaven and earth defied,
He totter'd, reeld, and died.
'Tis not for us, with rash surmise,
But judgments plain as this,
'Tis hard to read amiss.
TO WARREN HASTINGS, ESQ.
BY AN OLD SCHOOL FELLOW OF HIS AT WESTMINSTER
Hastings ! I knew thee young, and of a mind,
Maria, could Horace have guess'd
What honour awaited his ode
The honour which you have bestow'd ;
So elegant, even, and neat,
Which he seems to have trembled to meet.
if you please, he had said, A nymph shall hereafter arise, Who shall give me, when you are all dead,
The glory your malice denies ; Shall dignity give to my lay,
Although but a mere bagatelle; And even a poet shall say,
Nothing ever was written 'so well. Feb. 1790. ).'
* WoW un
face and like Dili'