A land that distant tyrants hate in vain, In Britain's isle, beneath a George's reign. THE POET, THE OYSTER, AND SENSITIVE PLANT. AN Oyfter caft upon the fhore Was heard, though never heard before; Ah hapless wretch! condemn'd to dwell For ever in my native fhell, Ordain'd to move when others please, But tofs'd and buffeted about, Now in the water, and now out. 'Twere better to be born a stone Of ruder fhape and feeling none, Than Than with a tenderness like mine, And fenfibilities fo fine; I envy that unfeeling shrub, Faft-rooted against ev'ry rub. The plant he meant grew not far off, And felt the fneer with fcorn enough, And with afperity replied. When, cry the botanifts, and stare, To make them grow just where she chuses, You that are but almost a fish, I fcorn your coarse infinuation, And many a gay unletter'd spark, With curious touch examines me, If I can feel as well as he; And when I bend, retire and fhrink, Says, well 'tis more than one would think Thus life is spent, oh fie upon't! In being touch'd, and crying don't. O'erheard and check'd this idle talk. And your fine fenfe, he faid, and yours, Whatever evil it endures, Deferves not, if fo foon offended, Much to be pitied or commended. Wherever Wherever driv'n by wind or tide, And as for you, my Lady Squeamish, If all the plants that can be found Should droop and wither where they grow, The nobleft minds their virtue prove Thefe, these are feelings truly fine, His cenfure reach'd them as he dealt it, To To the Rev. WILLIAM CAWTHORNE UNWIN. I. UNWIN, I fhould but ill repay The kindness of a friend, Whofe worth deferves as warm a lay Thy name omitted in a page, That would reclaim à vicious age. II. An union form'd, as mine with thee, Not rafhly or in fport, May be as fervent in degree, And faithful in its fort, And may as rich in comfort prove, As that of true fraternal love. III. The bud inferted in the rind, The bud of peach or rofe, Adorns, though diff'ring in its kind, The flock whereon it grows, |