SONNET

ADDRESSED

TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ.

JUNE 2, 1792.

HAYLEY, thy tenderness fraternal shown
In our first interview, delightful guest!
To Mary and me for her dear sake distress'd,
Such as it is has made my heart thy own,
Though heedless now of new engagements grown;
For threescore winters make a wintry breast,
And I had purposed ne'er to go in quest
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.

MARY AND JOHN.

IF John marries Mary, and Mary alone,

'Tis a very good match between Mary and John. Should John wed a score, Oh, the claws and the scratches!

It can't be a match:-'tis a bundle of matches.

B

M

a1, 11 god!

d me for or dear sake distress'd.
de my heart thy own.

dow of law enragments grown;
te winters make a wintry breast,
purposed ser to go in quest

Sap more exep with God alone. Icon hast ver me; or is God my foe, ve scene began,

The to mitigate the dreadful blow,

other, by whose sympathy I know

Ply true deserts in „bly to seen.

Not sore to ad nire the Bard than love the Mau..

MARY AND JOHN.

a marries Mary, and Mary alone,

very good match between Mary and John.
John wed a score, Oh, the cla vs and the
-cratches

't be a match:-'tis a bundle of matches.

LONDON, PUBLISH BY BALDWIN & CRADOCK, PARNOST K ROW, 83

Takes charge of every fluttering sheet,
And lays them all at George's feet.
Iberia, trembling from afar,
Renounces the confederate war;
Her efforts and her arts o'ercome,
France calls her shatter'd navies home;
Repenting Holland learns to mourn
The sacred treaties she has torn ;
Astonishment and awe profound
Are stamp'd upon the nations round;
Without one friend, above all foes,
Britannia gives the world repose.

ON THE

AUTHOR OF LETTERS ON LITERATURE'.

THE genius of the Augustan age

His head among Rome's ruins rear'd,
And bursting with heroic rage,

When literary Heron appear'd,

Thou hast, he cried, like him of old
Who set the Ephesian dome on fire,

By being scandalously bold,

Attain'd the mark of thy desire.

And for traducing Virgil's name

Shalt share his merited reward;

A perpetuity of fame,

That rots, and stinks, and is abhorr'd.

1 Nominally by Robert Heron, but written by John Pinker