TO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ. ON HIS PRESENTING KINSMAN beloved, and as a son, by me! The sculptured form of my old favourite bard, Proves dross when balanced in the Christian scale. Be wiser thou-like our forefather Donne, Seek heavenly wealth, and work for God alone. May, 1793. TO A YOUNG FRIEND, ON HIS ARRIVING AT CAMBRIDGE WET WHEN NO RAIN HAD FALLEN THERE. IF Gideon's fleece, which drench'd with dew he found In pledge, perhaps, of favours from on high, Not drought on others, but much dew on thee! ON A SPANIEL, CALLED BEAU, KILLING A SPANIEL, Beau, that fares like you, But you have kill'd a tiny bird, Nor did you kill that you might eat For him, though chased with furious heat, Nor was he of the thievish sort, Whom you have torn for yours. My dog! what remedy remains, BEAU'S REPLY. SIR, when I flew to seize the bird And harder to withstand. You cried-Forbear!-but in my breast A mightier cried-Proceed! 'Twas nature, Sir, whose strong behest Impell'd me to the deed. Yet, much as nature I respect, I ventured once to break And when your linnet on a day, Well knowing him a sacred thing, I only kiss'd his ruffled wing, And lick'd the feathers smooth. Let my obedience then excuse My disobedience now, From your aggrieved bow-wow: 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 Catharine 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; So Homer, in the memory stored Was once preserved-a richer hoard, 1793. 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, And, steep'd not now in rain, 1793. |